


Blue is the warmest color

by speia



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Hatred, Heavy Drinking, I'm Going to Hell, I'm awful, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, References to Genocide, References to War, Slow Build, Spoilers, Strangers to Lovers, a lot of feelings, bear with me as I thirst over Roy again, because it's a story by me, post-war angst, probably a long fic, remember when I said angst with a happy ending?, updated once a week unless stated otherwise, would you blame me if it's not quite?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 37,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speia/pseuds/speia
Summary: Say you are glad, say you are proud of what I've accomplished in my time
Relationships: Roy Mustang/Reader
Comments: 78
Kudos: 111





	1. The fire in his eyes

An impact. 

Your first encounter was an impact. Not as in a strong effect or influence a thing can have on a person or a situation. More as in the force with which a body hits another. To be more specific, the force with which two bodies hit each other. Nothing metaphorical, no poetic image. A true, concrete, physical impact. 

A collision.

It was late in the evening and the Eastern Library was empty. You picked the last returned books at the front desk. You were about to close and had to carry, alongside those heavy books, plenty of army files to the archive room before your shift truly ended. A whole stack of them, from what you were seeing. You picked as many as you could carry, perhaps more than you could actually handle after a whole day at work, and made your way to the back. Zigzagging between the shelves. Your arms and hands hurting already. You knew. You knew the very moment you lifted the pile you were carrying too much. But if you hurried you could make it. So you would hurry and definitely make it.

You didn't expect anyone to be still here, let alone the collision.

The impact.

You took a turn left and your eyes widened as you bumped into someone. Quite violently. You made a step back instinctively and your first reflex was to unlift your arms of this heavy burden by dropping the files on the floor. Hundreds of pages scattered in a soft sound. Hundreds of pages. No. No way.

“Sorry, miss. Are you okay?” you heard a male voice apologize.

Your eyes travelled up. Black ranger shoes, blue trousers, blue top. A soldier. What was a soldier doing here so late? No, not a soldier. Three stars on his shoulders, he was an officer. Quite a high ranking one. Quite a gorgeous high ranking one. Fine features, black hair, dark eyes, lips curving into a charming smile. That man was really stunning, for an army dog. And, at least, for a quite high ranking officer, he didn’t seem mad you just bumped into him with a stack of military files.

“My apologies, sir” you answered feebly “I didn't realize there was still someone here.”

“It's fine” he raised his hands in a placating manner “I'm the one at fault” he glanced at the papers, kneeled down as he started to make small piles out of them “I messed up your work.”

“Sir” you threw yourself on your knees, hurriedly gathered as many sheets as you could (go away, soldier) “Don't bother with that. If there's any book you need to borrow, I'll just…”

“And let a refined lady such as yourself clean my mess on her own?” ah, his smile was so bright “No way. I'm a gentleman, you know.”

His every gesture was swift and precise. You also had the strange feeling the piles he was making had some kind of logic in them. A gorgeous, quite high ranking officer used to paperwork. He was intriguing. 

“Sir” you tried again.

“Colonel Mustang” his voice, his face had become serious all of a sudden “Colonel Roy Mustang.”

He held out a hand for you to shake. You had heard that name before. Colonel Roy Mustang. You had heard it a lot. The infamous Colonel Roy Mustang. The Flame Alchemist. The Hero of Ishval. The one officer every soldier in East City was whispering about. In jealousy, awe and fear. Kneeling down in a sea of scattered army files. Human weapons were truly made beautiful and fascinating. You never took that hand, just kept gathering the files clumsily. It was rude but taking a hand that had killed so many people in yours… You shivered in disgust.

“Miss” you tensed when he came closer and grabbed the papers right before you “You shouldn’t do that, the sheets will crease” he still smiled at you, despite it all “Let me help.”

He was used to it, the disgust. So used to it he was facing your hatred with a smile. Beautiful smile. Hard to believe he once performed annihilation. He felt so nice. You shivered again. 

“Here, sir” you handed him a small pile “You're obviously better at this than I am.”

Perhaps it would be smarter not to oppose him too much. 

“Ah, you noticed” he sighed dramatically and scratched the back of his head “I fill dozens of these everyday after all.”

He was attractive, for real. He was frowning when he was focused and sorted those files pretty efficiently. His eyes were burning with a vivid flame. You couldn’t help looking. Staring. Were all the human weapons that splendid? Were all the dogs of the military that well raised?

“Done” he stretched and got up, files in his hands “Where’s the archive room?”

“Colonel” but your tone was cold, too cold “You've done enough.”

“Nonsense” he grinned again, that smile was really really charming “Like I said, I'm a gentle…”

“You've done enough” your repeated “Colonel, the library is closed now. So unless there are books you want to borrow…” you snatched the files from his hands “You should leave.”

His eyes widened though his brows frowned the following second. He was used to it, the disgust. But he was no longer facing your hatred with a smile. You couldn't really identify the glare in his eyes. Disappointment? Anger? Whatever, he was a soldier, a human weapon, a State Alchemist who went to Ishval. He should expect no less coming from a civilian like you. Though he sighed and his lips curved into a smile again. How? Why?

“My bad, I didn't want to impose myself” and again his smile was really warm “There's actually a book I need to borrow, I'll wait by the front desk.”

You gritted your teeth. You couldn't understand. He was obviously aware of your resentment and antipathy towards him. However, he was still treating you very kindly. As if you had been nothing but nice. Did he really expect you to look past what he had done? You would never. Never! A soldier, an officer, a State Alchemist, a killer of hundreds. You hated everything he embodied. And a pretty face and gentle manners wouldn't change that fact.

“Yes, Colonel, sir” you bowed politely “I'll be back in a minute.”

You were out of it. The feet that brought you to the archive room were so light, and so were the hands that put the files in their assigned boxes and then filled the Colonel’s borrowing form. A chess book, that sounded just like an excuse. 

“Here you go. You have within a couple of weeks to return it but you actually need more time, you can come back and we'll extend your time to a month” you spoke in a very formal way “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Sure” he mused “Would you like to go for a drink with me? Your shift just ended, right?”

What? Why? Couldn't he feel your resentment? Or was he just plain stupid?

“I already told you, Colonel, you have done enough.”

So your voice was cold again.


	2. The hatred in her heart

If you were to be honest, you had expected him to show up again. The man seemed stubborn and flirtatious like that. Except he didn't. If you were to be completely honest, you had waited for him to come on the following week. Except he didn’t. Until he did. To return the book he had been borrowing, nothing strange so far. He even returned it to a colleague, didn’t go for you especially. 

Your second encounter was a clash. As in a fight or argument between people. A dispute. With all the violence that pervades the word itself. No metaphor this time.

It was raining. You were standing outside, under the library’s porch, pressing the books against your chest to protect them from any droplet. Your shift was over and you were desperate to go home and read them. You were allowed to do so, it was more effective if you were to advise the readers about books you actually read. You wished you were also allowed to bring files home to sort but apparently even reports of the least importance weren't to leave the precinct. So, you were desperate to go home and read. Though you hadn't brought an umbrella and your arms were full of books. And you were on foot. And it was a real downpour. You sighed in annoyance.

“Do you need help, Lady Librarian?”

You startled and pressed the books harder into the fabric of your top. That voice. That stern, soldier voice. You knew he came here, you saw him at the front desk. You carefully avoided him, like you were always trying to avoid dealing with soldiers in general. However, here he was, talking to you. Casually. He couldn't help himself, could he? You were a stranger, he could just ignore you. Well, not if he was a gentleman, like he said. Twice.

“No, sir. I'll wait for the rain to stop.”

He was probably about to offer a ride or something. Well, not happening, Colonel. Did you look that easy to get? You also saw how he flirted with your colleague, he really was disgusting. Disgusting but also truly gorgeous. Especially when he was wearing such a self-confident smug face. So gorgeous it shouldn’t even be authorized. Human weapons shouldn’t be made that beautiful. 

“It won't stop” he pointed at the clouds “The sky’s all black.”

He was right. No ray of sunshine. The books would get all drenched. Books that weren't even yours. Perhaps you should put them back, bring them home another day. You closed your eyes, listened to the rumbling thunder. Go away, Colonel, it's not happening.

“I thought as much, worth a try though” he scoffed as he shrugged off his coat and handed it to you “At least wrap them up. This fabric is thick, it should protect them.”

You glanced at the clothing and your fingers tightened around the books. You made no move to take it, on the contrary you took a few steps backwards. A coat. His coat. A part of his military uniform. His long black coat. How many people did he kill wearing it? Did the smell linger? 

“Not even accepting my coat, I see” his tone had changed, become detached and professional “You resent me that much, though I tried not to do anything that could upset you” his eyes met yours and they were burning bright with that vivid flame again “I’m sorry if I actually did” he handed you the clothing again “It’s just a coat. Take it. The books will get damaged otherwise.” 

You twitched and tensed in realization. Fair enough. You were acting kind of rude, you couldn’t deny that. And he had been nothing but kind, very well-mannered and offering help: he was right to be angry. True, he had done nothing to upset you. You. Innocent Ishvalans couldn't say the same. Again, you didn’t make a move to grab the coat he was offering. 

“Colonel” you whispered, staring at the floor before you “I can’t accept.”

“I see” he sighed deeply “In your eyes as well, I'm that human weapon” his brows narrowed, his black eyes glimmered with anger “You process the archive, you probably read some reports and now think you know all about me” he stepped closer to you, he looked so powerful and dangerous all of a sudden “Sorry, Lady Librarian, but you don't.”

You yelped when he put his coat around your shoulders. Despite the sharpness of his words, his gestures were gentle and cautious. He even made sure his hands never made contact with your body. He just dropped the coat and the fabric flopped onto you clumsily, with a quiet sound. A thrill went down your spine. It really smelt like him. And he had a nice smell. A nice smell. Something you didn’t even want to consider: you hated soldiers, you hated the military. They were everywhere, controlling everything, killing people. And yet he smelt so nice it was making you nauseous.

“Wrap the books in that coat so you won't ruin any belonging of the State” he patronized “You don’t want to get in trouble for something as stupid as the rain.”

You tensed and violently grabbed the fabric of his coat to take it off your shoulders in a swift movement. You obliged, wrapping neatly the books in several layers of clothing. He was right, the fabric was pretty thick, the books would probably arrive home untouched. But the more you were moving it around, the more it smelt like him. And the more your nausea intensified. 

“You can keep that coat” in the end, he still smiled at you, again, despite the whole situation “Have a good day, Lady Librarian.”

He put both his hands in his pockets, gauged you from head to toes and walked down the stairs without looking back. The rain was still pouring and he had no umbrella either and no coat anymore. You held out, withdrew a hand. What could you say? An apology? A nice thing? Though you were left alone with a strange feeling. And the sight of his figure in the rain made your eyes sting, your chest filling with the characteristic weight of pain. Pain? He left you alone, you should be relieved. True, you had been harsh to him but he was a State Alchemist, an officer, he had it coming. He chose the soldier path, your hatred was all on him.

So why did your chest hurt so bad?

You had expected the feeling to disappear once you hit home but it didn't. You had tried not to think about it. You took a warm shower, unwrapped the books you had brought home (not even damp, he was right about the thick fabric) and tried to read. Except you couldn't right now. Your mind was wandering off. Your mind was wandering off and yet seemed to end up in the same place, always.

The Colonel Roy Mustang. 


	3. Obsession and endless yearning

Your mind was wandering off and yet seemed to end up in the same place, always.

The Colonel Roy Mustang.

You were forcing yourself to focus, forcing yourself to read. But your eyes travelled alongside the black lines on the white paper and nothing made sense. Not the sentences, not the words, not even the letters your eyes were seeing. You couldn’t read. Your thoughts were plagued and you couldn’t read. You gritted your teeth and would have sent the book flying across the room if it were yours. So you just closed it swiftly, threw it on the couch and took a fistful of your hair. 

You hated the military. You resented each and every soldier who participated in the Ishval massacre, State Alchemists even more. So, the Hero of Ishval himself… 

You had studied to become a librarian, you never actually thought you’d ever have ties with the military. But they owned every layer of this society and, once you had taken the job, you were told you also had to take care of the army archives that were stocked in Eastern Library. Said archives were reports of the least importance but, for some reason, Amestris was keen on its paperwork to the point of stocking even the useless one. That colonel had been wrong, you didn’t read anything about him, only daily reports where nothing happened and forms asking for more paper clips. 

You read nothing, the higher ups weren’t stupid enough to give actual military intel for civilians to handle. But you heard. With the reports from Eastern Headquarters, also came the rumors. Also came the rumor of a womanizing, pretty good-looking, ambitious Flame Colonel who distinguished himself during the civil war. East City’s most promising element. So, when you heard him say his name… Never would you let a murderer like him think he could have a normal life after the things he did.

And yet…

You stared at his coat you had put to dry by the fireplace. Slowly, as if your body acted on its own, you got up, just enough for your hand to snatch the clothing into your lap as you fell back on the couch heavily. You looked at it, dreamingly travelling your fingers alongside the collar before burying your face into the fabric. It smelt like rain, firewood and also like the Colonel. So much for hating the military. So much for resenting the Hero of Ishval. 

And, if your actions made no sense, your thoughts made even less. If you had shaken his hand, back then, what would have happened? If you had accepted his offer to go for a drink with him, what would have happened? If you had stepped in his car, what would have happened? He was infamous for being quite the skirt-chaser, would he have tried to kiss you? And, more, importantly, would you have let him? 

“Colonel” you whispered as you took a fistful of his coat “Colonel, who are you really?”

It had been so easy to resent the name, the officer from those rumors. But it was somehow hard to hate the man. The man who chose to spend hours piling up your scattered files, the man who smiled no matter how hateful you were, the man who offered his coat and dashed out in the storm so you could take those books home all the same. No, no, no. You hated the military, you hated every soldier. But you were pressing more and more your face against his clothing, closer to his scent. Holding the coat like you would hold the man. No. You hated the military. You couldn't fall for such an easy trick.

“How can you be so nice?” you whispered again “You, who killed.”

You travelled your hand down and stopped talking when you reached his pocket. Your fingers shoved in with expectation and you tensed when they met with some sheet of paper neatly folded and a few coins. You put the change aside and stared at the paper for a little while. He said you could keep the coat, right? Meaning that paper probably didn't mean much. Though your heart was still beating like crazy.

“Diane, two. Anna, five” you read out loud “Christine, eight.”

Until your heart almost stopped. Talk about great expectations, that was just a dating schedule. You sighed deeply, in disappointment and annoyance. That part of the rumors was definitely true, apparently. At least, you were hoping he was in deep trouble now he forgot his schedule and that those women would get back at him. Three women at once, how disgusting. You had no more expectation, when you looked in the other pocket and found nothing. Well, he gave you his coat, of course he would have made sure he left nothing important fir…

“Oh” you let out as your hand cupped his inner pocket.

Bingo. The inner pocket. And from what you could feel it wasn't empty. Your heart went fast again as you were now eager to see what he was keeping close to his chest (heart). You pulled out a pair of white gloves and blinked in astonishment. White gloves. Why? There was something strange about them, however. Their fabric was hard and rough, they wouldn't be nice to wear. Not to mention that strange red embroidered pattern: a circle, triangles, a salamander, flames at the top. Ceremonial gloves, maybe. No, the fabric would have been softer, prettier, richer. Come to think of it, you never saw him wear them either. Even today when it had been cold and raining. 

“Ah, what the...” you shivered as you tried one on.

The glove was oversized but at least you were confirmed it wasn't really nice to wear. The fabric was so abrasive it almost scrubbed your skin. Why would he keep something like this? The pattern was nice for sure but… You startled when your doorbell rang. You threw the glove away quickly and went to answer the door. Hearing the bell was already a surprise, but opening the door to reveal a drenched colonel was even more. 

“Co-Colonel” you stuttered as your cheeks flushed “What are…?”

“My ignition gloves” he cut you and his tone betrayed a huge feeling of emergency “Do you have them?”

“Your what?”

“My igni…” he sighed “Make way.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he basically forced his way inside your apartment. The hand that pushed you was all cold and wet and so was his hair and his uniform. He left you a couple hours ago and looked like he had been running in that storm since. How come he knew your place? Did he follow you? Was he sick like that?

“Colonel, what is the meaning of this?”


	4. The hateful twist of rejection

“Colonel” you kept protesting “Colonel, what are you doing here?”

He wasn't answering. He went through every coat by the entrance, found his way to your kitchen, your living room, leaving a trail of water and mud but not caring much about it. He tensed when he saw his coat and all its content spilled on the couch. 

“Goddammit, you found them.”

You opened your mouth to say something but he grabbed you violently by the arm, took a close look at your hands, your palms, rolled up your sleeves to see your forearms, wrists. You just stood there, completely dumbfounded, as he touched your clothed shoulders, squeezed them and his eyes scanned you up and down. He looked dangerous and angry, his eyes were darting on your whole figure, his hands were cold and wet and the flame in his eyes was burning so bright you were expecting the worst.

Colonel, no. Please, no.

But he let go of you just as suddenly and sighed heavily with relief.

“Thank goodness, you're okay.”

Okay? But you were not… okay. He just barged in, walked around your home as if he owned the place and touched you without even asking first. Touched you. You felt so nauseous you put a hand on your mouth. His hands were on you. Hands that killed. On your bare skin. Uh uh. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t touch you. With his bare hands. On your bare skin. And, for a second, you thought he would even… You started to tremble and your breathing was getting labored. Hands of a murderer. On you. Not that hard to hate the man in the end.

“Breathe” you heard him say and it was just like a punch in your stomach, no help at all “Slow deep breaths.”

“You…” you gripped so hard on your own clothing it hurt “You-You just…” you wheezed and blinked in dread “Tou-Tou… I… I-I…”

“Breathe” he said again and it definitely sounded like an order “Slow and deep” he put his hands in his pockets, shook his head and a few drops fell on the ground from his hair “Those gloves you found are important. And dangerous. I shouldn't have barged in, I apologize. But you must understand this was an emergency" he scoffed, nervously “At least now you have a good reason to resent me.”

“Your gloves? Dangerous?”

You blinked again, in shock this time. The intrusion, the touching… all for a pair of gloves? Sure, you never saw anything like those but… dangerous? That couldn’t be, it was so absurd. No, he didn't come for a piece of clothing. He came for something else. He had that dangerous glare in his eyes when he looked at you. But he stopped though. You were so paralyzed he could have had his ways with you, so easily, if it was what he actually came for. But he stopped.

“Yes, I can explain. Those gloves are…”

“Take them” you angrily threw them at him, alongside his coat, his money, the note, everything that was his “Take your stupid coat and your change even. Get out of my house.”

You expected some kind of reaction but he let the coat fall onto the ground and the coins roll under the furniture. Though he looked closely at the gloves, put them on and walked in silence to the fireplace. The fire was dying, the wood was almost consumed. He added some more, in a movement that betrayed a force of habits.

“Stand back.”

And, instead of poking and blowing on the embers to revive it, he just snapped his gloved fingers. There was a spark, then flames birthed suddenly in a sound you never heard before. Just a snap. A snap that triggered fire. A snap. Of that glove that was on your hand, a few minutes ago. And that sound… alchemy? Two tears rolled down your cheeks. That thing was on your hand. On your hand. So you had been wearing…

“My gloves are a weapon” he stated calmly, watching the flames dance in the fireplace “When I realized I no longer had them, I was just afraid anyone… afraid you could get hurt. Burnt” he took them off, shoved them in his pocket “I'm sorry. I should have explained but I didn't really have time, it was an emergency” he smiled again and for the first time his curved lips looked sad “But at least you're okay.”

“Ignition gloves” your voice died in your throat “A weapon.”

“Listen, I…” the eyes he was laying on you were also sad “I thought you hated me because I'm… a human weapon. Turns out, you don't. Hate me. You're afraid of me. I didn't realize until…” he shivered “Anyway I will no longer try and explain I'm not what you think I am” his fingers were trembling “I made you carry the burden of a weapon unwillingly and unknowingly” he scoffed “Sounds like you're right to be afraid.”

“Colonel” your legs were shaking “You…”

Get those things out of my house. 

Get out of my house.

Murderer.

You were cut by a sneeze. His sneeze. Ah, true, he was all wet. And now that he was standing still he was probably catching a cold. Well, he had it coming: he ran into that storm. He was an officer, he could have sent an underling. 

“Colonel, you're soaked.”

Go home. Get out of my house. 

Killer. 

“I should leave” he looked by the window and smiled sadly again “Not my day, uh?”

It wasn't as violent but the rain hadn't stopped. He was already ice cold. Drenched like he was, he probably came here on foot. He could get really sick. He was already getting sick. His uniform was dripping by the fireplace and small puddles were forming around his feet. He was shivering, must be freezing already, probably breaking a fever. But you had principles. You would never care for a soldier, never. You would never be nice to a killer, never. 

“You can use my phone” you stared at the floor before you “Call yourself a cab.”

“No need” he shook his head once more and a few other droplets flew around “I don't need…”

He coughed. Slightly but he coughed still. He was indeed catching a cold, stepping out in that storm was a bad idea. Especially when the sun was setting. 

“Call yourself a cab, Colonel” you glanced at the phone “I don't mind.”

“My apologies” he rubbed his forehead and sighed, his eyes looked feverish all of a sudden “In the end, I was the one who got in trouble for something as stupid as the rain.”


	5. Leave a flower as a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm moving in my new place, expect some disrupted posting for the following weeks, sorry :/

The Colonel. The Colonel Roy Mustang. Officer of the State Military, State Alchemist and Hero of Ishval. With his hair drenched and his uniform dripping. He forgot his coat when he left. His coat that smelt so much like him still.

“What was that book doing in the history section?” your boss asked as she threw said book on your desk and you startled “And why are those files completely disarranged?”

Because you couldn't focus. Because you could only think of one thing. One person. The Colonel Roy Mustang. Think about his sad curved lips that tried to smile. Think about his feverish eyes when he last looked at you. Think about how beautiful and kind he was. Think about how dangerous he was, carrying weapons in the shape of innocent white classy gloves. Thinking about his cold wet hands that killed on your bare skin. 

“I've heard an officer was searching for you, yesterday. That sounded urgent. Did something happen?”

No, nothing happened. Nothing bad. Nothing he could be accused of. He was a little intrusive, barging in your apartment, then touching you, but that wasn't something you could blame someone with his prestige for. It would be easier, if his touch hadn't been kind, if he hadn't always been polite and considerate. It would be much easier, if, when you froze in sudden shock, he had his ways with you. Then you would have something concrete to hate him for. Some tangible proof he was a dangerous, violent man, just like the Hero of Ishval is supposed to be.

His kindness was but an act. 

So why were you buying it?

“Yes” but your voice sounded blank “I just took something that was his by mistake, something important. He came to take it back, that's all.”

“Listen” and hers was very soothing “I know you have history with the military. You try to avoid dealing with soldiers and act extra careful when you can't. If you need a day off, or two, you can take them” she glanced at the files “Mistakes like those are nothing like you.” 

Take a day off or two and then what? Stare at his coat, still hanging by the fireplace. Stare at the flames, maybe, remember how easily those birthed in the snap of his gloved fingers. Stare in blank, probably, thinking about him. About his eyes. About his charming smiles. About how beautiful a human weapon could be. No. His tenderness was a trap. You wouldn't fall for it. You had to work, even if mistakes like those were nothing like you.

“No, ma'am, I'm fine. It's just…”

It was just that his hands, even cold and wet, had been soft and kind. It was just his touch had been so gentle it made you feel something you were afraid of. So gentle you offered him shelter, for a little while. So gentle you wished he could touch you like that again. Like no man did before. Like he cared about your safety above everything else, above even being hated by you.

Being touched by someone who killed so many shouldn’t feel that good.

His tenderness was an act. His tenderness was a trap. So why were you buying it?

“It was just a little weird, to have a colonel showing up at my door” you forced a smile “I'm fine, just a little… shaken up.”

It wasn't a lie. Not really. It was all because of what he was: a colonel. Otherwise you would have accepted the help he had been offering. The hand, the ride, the coat, perhaps even the date. And there would have been no problem. 

No problem. No attraction. No sympathy for the devil. No caring hands on you.

She smiled at you, her smile was forced as well. She was feeling sorry for you. She was feeling sorry for you and was far from imagining what storm in a skull you were actually facing. You couldn't see him again. Or else you'd do something against your very own principles. Like feeling (falling) for a human weapon. A State Alchemist. You were buying his act in the end: you were stupid like that. And that was no good. 

You spent the rest of the day in disarray. Making the same beginner’s mistakes all over again. You were trying, really. Not to think about him. Not to think about his frowning serious face. You spent the day in such disarray you didn’t even remember walking home, not quite. Outside the sky was still grey, the streets still covered with puddles. The air was still damp. The Colonel probably bedridden with the flu. With those feverish eyes that looked sad and sorry. Definitely not good. But, before you could actually reach your door, the concierge stopped you in the entrance.

“Miss” she waved at you “Can you come here for a minute? Someone left something for you.”

“For me?”

But you didn't order anything. Let alone get random packages. And your family or your friends would have phoned you if they were to send something. A thrill went down your spine. You had a weird feeling about this.

“A delivery boy brought that for you” she smiled as she handed you a huge bouquet of lilies “There's no card and he left no name, though.”

But it could only come from one person. Lilies were apology flowers. You took the bouquet gently. It really was huge, absurdly huge. White and yellow lilies. Purity, thankfulness and apology. Such a refined way of saying sorry. He knew his flowers, not really a surprise coming from someone who called himself a gentleman. Ah. He really didn't have to… You should be the one sending an apology, get-well gift. He got sick in your place. Yet, you smiled. Stupid colonel. 

You delicately put the bouquet in the sink, being careful not to damage the flowers. The smell was intoxicating and it didn’t really help you focus while you were searching for a vase big enough. And failing. Really, he did see your house, how could he even think that’d fit somewhere? Honestly, how sorry was he, to offer you so many lilies? No other choice, you had to make two smaller bouquets. You grabbed a pair of scissors and started to cut the stems. Yellow, white, yellow, white, you put the flowers aside one by one, making sure not to break the composition too much. And then you saw.

You saw that it wasn’t an apology. Or at least not just an apology.

Not with red spider lilies hidden in the center. Red spider lilies. Never to meet again. 

That bouquet was also farewell. 


	6. Until we meet again

The flowers had died. Days had passed and the flowers had died. No more lilies. No more white, yellow, red. No more purity, thankfulness, apology, farewell. His message had withered with the petals. All you were left with was his coat that had lost his smell and lacked the subtlety and the power of a whole bouquet. However, days had passed and your life had come back to normal. Even if it lingered still. That strange feeling. Within you. On your skin. Anyway, East City was a huge town. You would never see him again if he had decided so.

But you did. And your third encounter was a shock. As in a sudden upsetting or surprising event or experience. 

You were walking to the front desk to sort some returned books when you heard his voice. It had been a while, quite a while even, you didn’t recognize it right on the spot though it sounded familiar. So, when you saw him, standing there, handing your colleague a book that also looked familiar, you froze. He hadn’t noticed you. Not yet. Turn back. Walk away. Remember the spider lilies. Farewell. But your colleague had glanced in your direction. And so did he.

“Oh, hi” his eyes widened with surprise as an embarrassed smile curved his lips “I thought Monday was your day off, sorry.”

Ah, so you had read it well. He was avoiding you. Going as far as coming here on your day off, he was being very thorough. You didn’t answer right away, looked at him from head to toes. He was gorgeous, as always. He seemed okay. A little tired but okay. That was a relief of some sort.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Mustang” you formally greeted “Yes, it usually is. A colleague had a child emergency, we swapped shifts for the week.”

“Ah, of course” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose “Apologies, I failed to consider…” 

“It’s okay” you waved a hand “Do you have a minute to spare? I’ve also something of yours I need to return.”

His coat. His coat that had been neatly folded in your locker since a few days. Since it lost his smell. Even if he put spider lilies in the bouquet, you somehow hoped you’d get the chance to return it. To one of his men if not to him directly, so many different soldiers were dropping those files to archive: one day you'd cross paths with someone that was under his command, right? To return it, to get out of your home the last evidence of him. So farewell could occur for real. With no reminder. Only the lingering memory of his touch. He followed you in silence to the staffroom. You didn’t quite know if he was allowed to be there. But it’d be less awkward than the middle of the library at least. And he was a colonel, he was probably allowed, well, everywhere. 

“Thanks for the flowers” you said, wringing your hands nervously. 

“Those flowers meant…” he started in a whisper.

“I know what those flowers meant, Colonel” you added, opening your locker and pulling out his coat “This is why I’m returning this to you. Don’t worry, it’s clean.”

“I told you you could keep it” he frowned “But thank you.”

“Your hand, Colonel” you almost sounded like you were giving him an order.

He looked obviously surprised but obliged and held out his hand, palm towards the sky. You opened your own fist and gave him back his change and his dating schedule. It was probably out of date by now. But you had to get out of your home the last evidence of him. Every piece of it. So farewell could occur for real. Bye, bye, Colonel Mustang. May we never never meet again. 

“That too?” he scoffed “You could have kept the change for your trouble, or at least to pay for the phone call” he unfolded the paper and his eyes widened suddenly “Ah, so here it was. I thought I had lost it, I spent hours looking for my… for it” he pulled a thick notebook out of his pocket “You’re a real lifesaver, Lady Librarian. With that I can go back to… my paperwork early” he sounded too dramatically annoyed to be true. 

Relieved. He was relieved because of this stupid dating schedule. Nonsense. He glanced at the note, glanced at the notebook. Back and forth. His brows frowned some more and, all of a sudden, he was pondering. Focused. As if he was processing something truly important. That wasn’t really a schedule, was it? He was an alchemist, maybe that was some encrypted complex formula. Whatever, not that you cared anyway. 

We're done, Colonel, go away now.

Say it.

Goodbye.

Farewell.

Except he wasn't leaving. Except he wasn't talking. Except you weren't talking. Except you weren't moving. You were looking at each other. As if you both wanted to add something but weren't daring to. So you were just looking. Though your eyes were avoiding the other’s. As if you were afraid eye contact would break whatever kind of moment you were having.

“There is no chance” he started after seconds that felt like hours “We could brush the misunderstandings away and start over, isn't there?”

What? Start over? Was he stupid or something? Did you really look like you wanted to have  _ anything  _ to do with him? His pride had been kind of hurt when he realized you were afraid of him: was he really ready to expose himself to that again? Yes, definitely. His brows were frowned with resolve, the flame in his eyes was fierce. You took an instinctive step backwards, your wrist clenched against your chest, not really sure what the feeling that made your legs shake so much was.

“Ah, I thought so” he mused, pretending he wasn't taking the loss that hard “At least I asked” he smiled at you again and that one was pretty hurtful.

Fear. That feeling was fear. But fear of what exactly? 

“Colonel…” you tried with a quivering voice.

“Don't bother” anger was now pervading his tone, even if he was trying not to give in to it “You're terrified” he hissed, looked away “I thought there was a way, because you…” he lowered his head “Have a nice life, Lady Librarian.”

He swiftly turned his back on you and started walking away. Farewell. That was farewell. Ah. It hurt. You put both hands on your mouth as tears rolled down your cheeks. It hurt. So much.

“Colonel, wait.”

So much your body acted on its own and you grabbed the fabric of his uniform.

“Don't go.”


	7. The touch of their fingers is bitter and sweet

“Don't go.”

That wasn't happening. That wasn't happening, not for real. You weren't doing that. You weren't doing something as idiotic as that. Your hand grabbing his uniform. Your fingers holding that blue, that blue symbolizing everything you hated. Military. Soldiers. War. Violence. Everything you couldn't stand you were now holding with your very own hand. Open your fist. Let him go. Isn't that what you want? Him gone? 

No.

Don't go, Colonel. 

Please. 

He tensed at the contact. Of course, you were terrified. The least thing he was expecting was you to touch him directly. Well, him. His military dress at least. He tensed. He tensed but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you and just slapped your hand off his overcoat. You let out a little cry of surprise and pain. His rejection. His anger. It hurt. It hurt so much. He took a few other steps towards the exit and both your hands grabbed his clothing this time. Let go. Farewell. Let go.

No.

Colonel, you can't leave.

“Don’t go” you repeated.

Why was it so hard? Why couldn't you just open your hands? 

“Why?” his voice was so cold it made you shiver “Aren’t you aware of how afraid you look? And yet you want me to stay?” he violently tugged the fabric out of your hands “What are you trying to do? Absolve a monster? But I don’t need you to play the tragic victim.”

That was incisive. And it hurt, it was meant to hurt. 

Pain. 

He was right to be angry though, you weren't clear about your intentions. Not in the slightest. 

Pain.

But you couldn’t stop. Your breathing was erratic and, when he tugged his uniform away, you just threw your arms around his waist. Your face buried against his back, deep in his scent. He reacted quickly, he was still a soldier in the end. He threw his coat on the floor, firmly grabbed you by the arm and turned around to face you. His hands ended on your shoulders and his eyes were glimmering with pure wrath. Ah. Now you had a reason to be afraid. He seemed so deadly. His face drew dangerously close to yours and, despite his frowned brows, his greeted teeth, the wrath deforming his face, one sole word crossed your mind.

Gorgeous.

“What do you want from me?” he asked between clenched teeth “Stop sending ambiguous signs and tell me what you want from me!”

I don't know, Colonel. I swear I don't know, I swear I don't understand.

I hate you. (You're so beautiful) I hate you. (You're so kind) I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!

You're the Hero of the fucking Ishval, you're not supposed to be beautiful, you're not supposed to be kind.

I hate you. 

“You want to sleep with me, is that it?” his grip tightened “To experience the deadly thrill of getting in bed with a human weapon?”

What? What was he saying? Did people really…? No, fuck no, you didn’t even consider…!

“I know how I look” he scoffed “Or what my reputation is. But it doesn't mean I'm an easy man to get.”

So people really did… want to claim the Hero of Ishval as their trophy. For their own. That was a little sad. Dehumanizing. For someone that wasn't seen much like a human being anymore. Sad, indeed. Again, he had it coming. Again, not that you cared about the details of his sex life. Or love life. Or his feelings.

“Why would I want that?” you wanted to sound sarcastic whereas you just sounded pathetic and scared “I hate you.”

The words escaped you. (I hate you) You said them so naturally. (I hate you) No. That couldn't be. You didn't mean to say it, at least not like that. And it definitely wasn't the answer he was expecting. His whole body went rigid and tense and his fingers dug a little into your shoulders. His eyebrows narrowed and twitched, he blinked in astonishment. But he remained pretty calm, despite the anger.

“Sure” he took a deep sigh, loosened the grip of his fingers “Keep lying to yourself if it makes you feel better.”

Lying? To yourself? What was he even talking about? If he wanted to get inside your head, that was quite a clumsy way. It worked better when he used feigned kindness and consideration. 

“I hate you” you repeated, a little more convincing this time “You're the Hero of Ishval. And I… hate you.”

You weren't lying. He was wrong.

I hate you.

“Right.” 

He moved his hands away from you the very second you called him that and took a few step backs. He rubbed his chin, averted his eyes, even lowered his head. Something was wrong. He didn't look fierce and proud anymore. He seemed… vulnerable? No way, not someone like him who was all about sternness and pride. Come on, you weren't the first civilian to confess hatred towards dogs of the military! You weren't the first one to spit your hatred at his face!

“Once again, Lady Librarian” he picked up his coat from the floor, brushed the dust off “The best of lives, truly.”

Though that one sounded cold, formal. He was leaving. This time, for real. He was putting obvious distance between the two of you, physically and in his speech as well. He was leaving. You took fistfuls of your own top and stared at the floor not to do anything as stupid as throwing your arms around his waist and burying your face in his scent. Not again. His waist. His slender waist. His scent. His peculiar scent, a strange mix of coffee, ashes and him, tinged with a little sweat. You lowered your head as well, clenched your fists. 

Go away, Colonel. I hate you.

“And, for the record” he sounded professional again, he was quick to regain his composure “Rumors and a few military reports don't make history. You might want to listen to what the persons involved have to say, even if you disagree, before claiming to know the truth.”

How dare you? Shut up, Colonel. You're the Hero of Ishval, we both know what heroes who rose up during war truly are. Mass murderers rewarded for their amount of killings. For their genocide. I don't care what your story is. You killed those innocents. With fire. In just a snap of your weird gloves. So you shut up. How dare you?

I hate you. I will always hate you.

You're a monster. You're a killer.

Even if you're beautiful. And nice. And attentionate. And (maybe) caring. 

“So long, Lady Librarian.”


	8. It's all but a dream

The room was bright. So bright in that morning light. With the wooden floor, the wooden walls, the big window, the bed with the crumpled white sheets, the sun pouring onto said-sheets, it was indeed pretty romantic. White, bright and pure. And he was beautiful in that so luminous morning light. Really stunning. His hair was messy from resting so many hours on the pillow, his smile was still a little sleepy. He was beautiful when he was on top of you. Really stunning. And he was sweet and tender and affectionate when he touched you. His hands. His lips. His whole body. Him. He was so considerate. Tender. Slow. More than any other man ever was. He was good. So good. You shivered, your back arched and you bit on your lower lip. Yes, he was… amazing. 

“Colo… nel….”

His mouth. His lips. His hips. His thrusts. His body. His fingers. His scent of arousal. His skin. His warmth. Him, him, him, him…. him!

“Co… lonel!”

You gasped, opened your eyes suddenly, blinked a few times as if to reconnect to the real world. Wait. Wait, that wasn't… real? You turned your face the other way. Of course, no one. And the room wasn't absurdly bright. Neither did it have wooden walls or floor. Or the bed white sheets. It was a dream. Just a dream. And also quite a disappointment.

(You want to sleep with me, is that it?) 

You tensed and took a fistful of the sheets. Come on, he had said that to provoke you. And you didn't even once consider… So why now? Why days after? And, more importantly, why did it feel this sweet and intimate? Why did he feel so good it was leaving you with a strange sensation in your belly? 

(You want to sleep with me) 

(Is that it?) 

You rolled on your back, let out a heavy sigh, slid an unsteady hand under your top, shivering. You travelled light fingers on your belly, between your breasts. You shouldn't. Not when you were thinking about him. Not when you were dreaming of him, of you doing the most intimate thing two people could do together. You shouldn't. But you did. Cup one breast with one hand as the other slowly went to touch your core, already pulsing with all that vivid fictional stimulation. You shouldn't, you shouldn't, you shouldn't.

(You want to sleep with me) 

You closed your eyes, your hands trembling with both expectation and guilt. Don't. Think of anyone, anyone but him. But he smiled at you, behind your closed eyelids. And you remembered everything. The shape of his hands on your naked body, how good he felt, how sweet his kisses were. It was all too vivid. Everything that wasn't real. 

A disappointment. 

"Colonel" you whispered "Co… lo… nel…"

Your body tensed, you withheld your breath as your toes curled and you shivered with the characteristic thrill of the climax. Your head lazily rolled on the pillow. It had been a while. A while you had this weird conversation with him. A while since your last truly satisfactory time with a man. You shouldn't have. Not when you were thinking of him, not when you were dreaming of him touching you so tenderly. But the dream was a disappointment. And the truth was cruel.

(You want to sleep with me, is that it?) 

(To experience the deadly thrill of getting in bed with a human weapon?) 

The truth was so cruel. You had an erotic dream involving the Colonel Mustang. A dream that was quite satisfying. And the worst thing was he never felt like a human weapon. And none of your thrills had been deadly. Just vivid. Quite vivid. So vivid the sensations lingered all day. Alongside a huge feeling of guilt. 

“What do you mean you're not free tonight?” a colleague of yours put her hands on her hips to mimic anger “It's been so long since our last girls’ night” she grinned “Don't tell me you're ditching us to go on a date?”

“Wh-What? No!”

It wasn't a date. It was just a drink. Between acquaintances after work. Nothing much, really. 

“Oh, but you are” she purred “Who's the lucky boy?” she teased “Someone we know? Someone from work? Eugene maybe?”

Yes, it definitely was. Eugene. He was a colleague as well. You had some affinities and he was quite nice but not attractive enough to justify going on a date with him. He was just an acquaintance. And, when he offered to take you on a date, you accepted. For a less noble reason.

“Ah, come on, girl, don't make that face” she went on “We all know. Eugene and you have been giving those kinds of vibes for a few days. It's okay, girl, it's good. Eugene is a decent guy.”

Yes, Eugene was. But he wasn't that one man. You had been trying. You had really been trying. Not to think about him. He was gone, that was for the best. He was gone. It had been days. Though the truth was cruel and your whole being ached for him. For his warmth, for his scent, for his smile, for that vivid flame in his black eyes. The truth was cruel and you were attracted to him, somehow. Even if you hated him. Well, the man was gorgeous and acted nothing but kind, it wasn’t really a surprise. So you accepted Eugene’s offer for a date. Because you never really knew. Perhaps you’d forget about how great that bastard colonel always looked. Or how great his kisses felt, in that dream. 

“Good evening, sunshine” you had to admit, that nickname was cute “Ready to go?” 

“Ready when you are” though your smile was still a little forced “What's your great plan for the night?”

“You probably heard about that new bar that's opening downtown? Guess what” he swiftly pulled out two tickets from his inside pocket “I got us invites.”

“To that all too classy, awfully selective new place?” you arched an interrogative brow “How did you even manage to do that?”

“Can't say” he put a playful finger before his lips “I can’t reveal all my trump cards on the first date.”

You giggled. Yes, Eugene was a decent guy. Eugene was even a funny guy. Definitely the kind you could fall for. If the memory of last night wasn’t lingering. On your skin. In your heart. In your head. And the night was great, and he was, indeed, quite charming. Polite, considerate. Quite the gentleman in his own way as well. However, he was still missing something. Something you didn’t even want to consider. He wasn’t the Colonel Roy Mustang. You didn’t want to dwell on that…. weird attraction, whatever. You hated him. It would never happen.  _ Never. _

Except you had been dreaming about him, about his body entangled with yours intimately, so intimately. 

Except all you could think of was him. 

The Colonel Roy Mustang. 


	9. And their eyes met

The Colonel Roy Mustang. 

You had long forgotten what Eugene and you were talking about. All you could think of was the Colonel. The Colonel's face. The Colonel's smile. The Colonel's eyes. The Colonel, the Colonel, the Colonel. Come on, he was the Hero of Ishval, a killer, a mass murderer, a monster. What was wrong with you? That dream. The fantasy of his tender kisses. Of his tender embrace. Of the sweet love he made with you. In those luminous white sheets. In that bright wooden room. In that dream. Perhaps you did want to sleep with him, after all. To experience the deadly thrill of getting in bed with a human weapon. And you hated the idea as much as you hated the man. 

So you kept on drinking. Glass after glass after glass after glass. Until you could no longer remember what Eugene and you were talking about. For an entirely different reason. 

"Stop" he gently put his hand on your wrist and you tensed all of a sudden "Whoever he is, he's not worth it."

"Who?"

What was he talking about? Your mind was too fuzzy with alcohol to carry on a serious conversation. 

"There is someone else, isn't there?" he carefully took the full glass away from your hands "Someone you're trying to forget by drinking with another man" his smile was a little sad "Whoever he is, if he can't grasp what a nice person you are, then he's an idiot" his eyes lingered on the liquid "And definitely not worth it."

He was wrong. The Colonel could obviously see what a nice (really?) person you were. You were the one who couldn't see. What a nice person he was trying to be. No, you could see. You could see all too well. But you were refusing to admit. What a nice person he could be. Refusing to admit there was more behind his story of war and his history of violence. Refusing to admit there was a man under that uniform. A man trying to reach out to you. A man you were attracted to. 

"He's not" it was hard to build proper sentences "I am the one…" ah, tears in your eyes "I treated him so badly, of course he…"

Of course he wouldn't try to reach out forever. He might have been facing your hatred with a smile but there was a limit to how much he could take. You had asked him not to go before you voiced your resentment. Of course he wouldn't see you again. Your fingers clenched into fists. 

"Hey, it's okay" and pity in his voice "I'm going to drive you home. Unless there is someone you want to call? A friend?" in his smile even "Someone you can safely talk to? I don't want you to regret oversharing with an almost stranger" in his chuckle too. 

"Someone… to call?" oh, maybe "Yes."

You tried to get up, stumbled a bit. The room was spinning too fast around you, you had to put both your hands on the table to keep your balance. Eugene offered to accompany you, you refused, grabbed your purse. Getting up was the tricky step, now you'd be fine. You were feeling light, so light. Seeing the world as if through a bubble, walking on thin air. And the phone weighed nothing when you picked it up. Though the change gave you a hard time. Someone to call. It was a bad idea, wasn't it? You should hang up, let Eugene drive you home. And yet… 

"Yes, can you connect me with the Colonel Mustang please?"

"Miss, the Colonel is…"

"It's urgent."

You hoped you didn't sound too wasted but she put you through all the same. You tensed and gripped hard on the phone when you heard the characteristic click. 

"Yes?"

And his voice. His damn voice. You took a deep breath, started to cry. Oh, Colonel… 

"Yes?" he repeated, a little annoyed. 

"Colonel…" you whispered, very weakly. 

"Lady Librarian?" the way he spoke the nickname he gave you betrayed both surprise and emergency "What is it? Are you okay?"

"Colonel, I…" you were crying so much "I am… I am so…" so hard to talk, so hard to breathe "I-I…"

"Where are you?" 

"I-In a bar" you sniffled "I… I…"

"Where?"

"Th-That new place, downtown" you gripped harder and harder on the receiver "Near the market."

"I'm on my way" you heard him get up briskly "I'll be there in fifteen, twenty minutes at most" he sighed "Wait for me."

"O-Okay."

That had been easy. That had been so absurdly easy. You'd see him again… just like that? Crying over the phone, not even able to utter a single apology? You'd see his face, his eyes, his gorgeous smile. You'd hear his voice, you'd smell his scent, feel his warmth, perhaps. Just like that. It had been easy. You'd see him, he was coming for you. So why wasn't it making you feel better? So why, when you sat back at your table, all you could do was hide your face against your arms and cry, no matter what Eugene could do or say to comfort you? Yes, he definitely was a nice person. And you definitely weren't. 

"As much as I'd like to say you're in grand beauty for that opening night" that voice, that stern and yet charming voice making casual compliments "You're a mess, Lady Librarian."

You glanced at him. That figure, that too handsome face, that blue uniform. No mistake. He was here. And he was in grand beauty tonight. He was always in grand beauty. Oh, Colonel, how bad I've missed you. 

"Sorry, sir" no, Eugene, stay out of it "But who are you?"

"An acquaintance of the Lady's" his lips turned into a slight smirk "And apparently her own personal cab when she has decided to get a little overboard" he frowned suddenly "Is there a problem?"

"No" Eugene's eyes widened "I just didn't expect an officer, of all people."

"Well, people are full of surprises, aren't they?" he smiled "Can you stand?"

"Yes."

You got up but the room was spinning too fast and you would have lost your balance if he didn't grab you firmly in reflex. His hands. He was wearing gloves. Not his ignition gloves. Just regular white gloves. Colonel… 

"Easy, little lady" his voice, his grip, his warmth "I'll drive you home."

Don't you ever go.


	10. Flip a coin and see which way I fall

Your eyelids were heavy. Your eyelids were so heavy. Your head hurt. Your head hurt so much you thought your brain was about to explode in your skull. Your arms were weak and, when you sat up in your bed, the nausea kicked in so intensely you had to put a hand on your mouth. Okay, you went really overboard last night. That wasn't exactly smart but at least you weren't working today. Good, with a hangover like this one… Work was out of the question. Work. 

Work. Eugene. And then what? 

You couldn't remember. You couldn't remember a thing. 

Your heart sank in your chest. That wasn't good. Drinking to the point of oblivion, yes, great move, smartass. You rubbed your forehead, tried to connect the dots. Think, think. Work. Eugene. You drank. Too much, obviously. You managed to come home in one piece and even if your dress was stained on the front and the sleeves (classy…) you were still in yesterday's clothing. Okay, you had dropped dead on the bed. Except the blanket you were wrapped in usually belonged in the closet. Crap, he did take you home, didn't he? Eugene. He did see you wasted (really classy…), didn't he? You passed a hand on your face. A colleague. Great, exactly what you needed. How much of an embarrassment did you make of yourself? 

You couldn't remember. You couldn't remember a thing. 

You glanced around the room, trying to find evidence, a clue, something. Your coat was neatly folded on the chair, your shoes neatly put by the bed, by your purse. Neat, so neat. Was Eugene always that considerate, to put your things in order before leaving? Uh, maybe. You sighed. At least nothing bad happened. Nothing too bad. You had been lucky. Now, time to get up… right? You groaned, stretched a bit, very carefully, glanced at the alarm clock on your bed table when a folded paper caught your eye. You frowned. He left a note. Okay, perhaps something happened (but you were still fully clothed… weren't you?). Your arm weighed so heavily when you extended it to grab the sheet. 

_ Call me. - Roy _

You blinked. Roy? So you dumped Eugene midway through the night? How? And who the fuck was…? Oh no. Of course. Roy. Roy Mustang. The Colonel. So something did happen. With the Colonel. Something did happen and he asked you to call him. Your vision blurred, tears rolled down your cheeks, not really easing your headache or your nausea. It couldn't be. It couldn't be! What did you do? What did you fucking do? 

You couldn't remember. You couldn't remember a thing. 

You took a shower. It didn't help. First because you thought you were about to throw up or pass out each time you moved too briskly. Second because, even if it reassured you at first to realize you were still indeed fully dressed, your hungover brain was starting to get randomly wild. What did happen between you and the Colonel? Did you kiss? Touch? More? (Your dress  _ was _ stained after all) And all you could remember was work and Eugene. How did the Colonel even show up in the picture? And why did he sign with his fucking given name? 

You couldn't remember. You couldn't remember a thing. 

So you thought and thought and thought. And stared at the phone, unable to bring yourself to call, playing with the note he left between your fingers. You wanted to call. To hear his voice calling you Lady Librarian, being charming and self-confident. To hear him crack a stupid joke and chuckle. But if you called he'd tell you. What happened between the two of you, what you did and forgot about. There'd be reproach in his voice probably, not… whatever there usually was. So you thought and thought and thought. And stared at the phone, unable to bring yourself to call, playing with the note he left between your fingers. 

_ Call me. - Roy _

You were afraid. Afraid you might have indeed kissed him, touched him, maybe more. Afraid you had him the way you had been yearning for and forgot all in that alcoholic haze. It would be so sad. If you were to ever have him the way you had been yearning for, you'd like to remember him. Every detail of him. Remember his face, remember his eyes, remember his taste, his warmth, his scent, the feeling of his body alongside yours. Remember those details as vividly as you remembered your dream. 

Honestly, what were you ever thinking about? 

You startled when you heard your doorbell ring, got up briskly, clumsily, running for it almost, thinking that, maybe, since you didn't call him, he decided to check on you himself. He was considerate to the point of folding your coat and putting aside your shoes. So you were eager when you opened the door. Before you faced a disappointment. 

"Hello" you arched a surprised brow "May I help you?"

The man was quite tall, pretty good looking with his glasses, his green eyes and messy hair. You were positive you never saw him before and yet he was smiling at you fondly. And carrying a huge bouquet in his arms. Okay…? 

"Hi" the man always almost shoved the bouquet in your arms "Roy asked me to give you those because, I quote, 'if I leave work again Hawkeye will terminate me', or something like that" you blinked in complete astonishment "He also said you'd understand."

Of course, he picked petunias. Anger, resentment but could also read as 'your presence soothes me'. Of course, he picked ambiguous flowers. Your lips curved into a soft smile. He really liked his flowers, that idiot. Okay, that you were understanding, but who was that man? Aspirin and coffee could work magic but this magic also had its limits. 

"Excuse me" you shook your head, the bouquet was once again absurdly huge "Who are you?"

"Ah, sorry, I'm forgetting my manners" he scratched the back of his head before holding out a hand "Maes Hughes, I'm Roy's friend."

A friend. He sent a friend, not a delivery boy. He sent a friend to check on you. How sweet. (What exactly did happen last night?) 

"Pleased to meet you" you made way "Come in" you put the flowers in the same two vases as before, with a little water "I'm afraid the Colonel didn't talk much about you. Coffee?"

"Gladly" he giggled "Well, he didn't tell me anything about you either. But I've known him for years, I can tell when there's someone he's serious about."

You dropped the cup in the sink in reflex and it broke in a loud sound. 

"You're okay?"

"Y-Yeah."

Someone he's serious about. 

(But what exactly happened last night?) 


	11. Give up or give me your all

"This is my wife" he pulled out a photograph from his pocket "And my little daughter" what was with that smile? "Aren't they lovely?"

He was easygoing, Maes Hughes. Really easygoing. Avoiding tricky subjects like last night, his work (though you weren't fooled in the slightest: he was probably military, if he had known the Colonel for that long) and obviously the Colonel himself. He was easygoing, cracking jokes at random, goofing around so casually. Telling you all about his life as if you had always been close friends. He wasn't feeling much like a soldier. He didn't have that underlying sense of upcoming danger. Or maybe he was very good at concealing it. It was hard to picture him around the Colonel who was always stern and uptight. Hard to picture the Colonel looking at those same family pictures. With probably a frown of annoyance as Hughes couldn't seem to stop saying how great the women of his life were. Okay, probably not that hard picturing their dynamics after all. Not that hard at all. If you closed your eyes, you could see it. His gorgeous frowning face. With feigned annoyance. 

"Are you okay, miss?"

"Ah, sorry" you blinked "Last night has been rough" you rubbed your eyebrows "I…"

"Sure."

He wasn't asking if he should leave, though. Perhaps he had been told not to. No, not perhaps. He had been told not to. Though, you weren't quite understanding. Why he was here, why the Colonel sent him. You had thought he'd mention last night. Or ask a few questions at least. He never did. He just talked about his personal life. What did you do, last night, so the Colonel could no longer leave you alone for a single day? And why was it making your heart race like that? What did you do? What did you fucking do? 

"Sorry, but you don't exactly look okay." 

Ah, those eyes. He was concerned, genuinely concerned. His fingers moved to and fro, gauging if he should or shouldn't put a comforting hand on you. He seemed to know a lot about you. What did the Colonel tell him? Was he aware of what happened last night? Was he aware when you weren't? Was he aware you weren't? 

"I don't feel good" so you blamed it all on the hangover "I didn't exactly expect to see someone here, honestly."

"Of course" he glanced at his watch "Can I use your phone?"

The phone? Sure, whatever. Everything was so weird already. A stranger in your home, a night you couldn't remember, the Colonel you were still thinking of with this strange feeling of… fondness? No, not fondness. Weird attraction. Because of the dream. Probably. 

"Sure."

And if you ever doubted he could be military, which you never did, the way he got up, pulled out a notebook from his pocket, dialed the number on the phone, spoke was leaving you with no doubt. 

"This is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes calling from a civilian line, could you connect me with the Colonel Mustang, please? Yes. Yes, my identification number, just a second" he frowned, flipped a few pages of his notebook "USO-800. Thank you."

Yes. Right now, he was an officer. Lieutenant Colonel, quite a high rank on top of that. Ishval, probably. Well, he was about the same age and rank as the Colonel. 

"Yo, Roy" and back to being too informal while supposedly speaking to a superior officer "Yes, I'm there. Yes, I gave her the flowers" he smiled goofily "She's fine, Roy. Yes, of course she's fine, don't you trust me?" he purred "Could it be that you…? Aye, aye, sir, right away" he handed you the phone "He wants to talk to you."

You tensed suddenly. No. No, you couldn't. You weren't remembering what happened, what you did, what he did, what you said, what he… might have said? No. He had been keeping at a distance and now he was all over the place. Sending petunias (your presence soothes me), sending his friend to give him a full report on you over the phone. No. You couldn't. Not when he was being so considerate.

"It's okay" but Hughes could be really convincing, with this soothing fatherly voice of his "He might be a little scary sometimes but, believe me" he handed you the receiver once again "Right now, he's just worried."

Really convincing. 

So you picked the phone. Even if you didn't know what to say. Even if it'd just be awkward. 

"Colonel" you whispered softly, and it somehow felt like a déjà vu. 

"Lady Librarian?" so was his voice "Are you okay?" and so was his question "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit" you smiled softly "But I guess that was to be expected."

"Look" he sighed heavily "About last night" your hand squeezed the receiver hard, real hard "I hoped I haven't been too intrusive, but you were really…"

Oh. Okay. Right from the start. You blinked in astonishment. The subject was tricky, he didn't finish his sentence. You had to say something, hadn't you? Silence was starting to get really heavy. You had to tell him. The truth about last night. 

"Colonel" but you lied "It's okay" no, it wasn't "You have nothing to apologize for" no, no, you weren't remembering a thing "Everything's fine."

No! Nothing is! 

"I see" but his tone betrayed he wasn't believing you "You know, you don't have to… pretend you're okay with it" what did you do? what did you fucking do? "I understand if you're not."

"It's okay" but you lied, and lied, and lied "It really is, Colonel" you bashed your eyelids "I'm not mad. Or afraid, I just…"

That was a lie. You were afraid. Afraid he'd keep at a distance once again. Afraid he'd leave again. He couldn't. You had missed him too much while he was gone. Dreaming about him intimately was proof. And last night, whatever happened then, another. He was a soldier, an officer, the Hero of Ishval. And yet… 

"You're sure?" you were positive he was frowning right now "I mean, I…" rubbing his face even "Okay" he flipped over a few pages "So what about Wednesday? Eight?" wait, was he offering…? "Say yes, I'm a busy man."

“Colonel, I…”

“Say yes” he insisted “Wednesday, eight. No uniform, no ignition gloves, I promise.”

Cute. He was cutting you so you couldn't refuse. It sounded like an order as well, he didn't want you to say no. Really cute. But, unfortunately, he was the Hero of Ishval. And yet… 

“Yes” you passed an unsteady hand in your hair “Wednesday, eight” you repeated his every word “No uniform, no ignition gloves. I'll wait at the library.”

“Sure” you could hear him smile and, behind your closed eyelids, you could also see him smile “It's a date, then.”


	12. What I have done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a late chapter next week, I'm going on vacations and probably will be travelling all day. I'll make sure to post when I can though :)

"Colonel?"

Her voice on the phone had been weird. He remembered. The pain, the distress. The emergency. He didn't have to see her to know she had been clinging onto her phone. Hard. Or to know she had been crying. A lot. She didn't have to voice it either. He had understood. She needed him. She was in a bad situation and she needed him. So he came and fetched her. He had expected it, her being a pitiful sight, drunk, with a man. He had expected it the very moment she mentioned a bar. Except he also had expected her date to be taking advantage of the situation, hence her distraught phone call so late at night. And to him, a soldier. The embodiment of everything she resented. But also an embodiment of utter power. He had thought she needed him as an officer, as a human weapon, to perform a demonstration of power. He had been wrong. 

She needed him as a man. 

Her date, whoever he was, was gentle and kind with her, trying to soothe her inebriated outburst. Not touching her, never. He was even reluctant to have her go with a military man, which was understandable regarding her strong principles. But she held onto his uniform so hard he had no other choice but to yield and let a colonel take care of her in his stand. 

And take care of her he did. 

He drove very carefully, making sure not to take the turns too quickly. She looked pretty sick already and he couldn't help glancing at her from time to time, afraid she might pass out on him. He didn't know how much she had to drink. And, from the looks of it, it was a lot. He frowned, clicked his tongue, drummer his fingers on the wheel. It was a long, silent drive. 

"We've arrived" he whispered as he stopped the engine "Let's get you home."

"Can you… wait a bit?" her voice was weak "If I get up now, I'll just…"

"Sure."

He opened the window a little, hoping the fresh air would help her. She sighed slightly and it took him a few seconds to realize she was also shivering. Of course, that outfit was way too light. He shrugged off his coat, wrapped her in it and the last thing he expected was her taking the opportunity to rest her head on his shoulder. Not that he minded, on the contrary. He brought her a little closer, not much, he didn't want to frighten her, and squeezed her arm tenderly. 

"Colonel" her fingers took a fistful of his uniform "Colonel…"

"I'm here" he rubbed her skin through the fabric, a bit at a loss "It's okay."

"Colonel " she kept repeating his rank but, again, not that he minded "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright" he pulled back a little, glanced at her "I'm here."

He knew he shouldn't. Hold her close. Look at her. At her face, gorgeous even when covered with makeup ruined by so many tears. At her eyes, her sparkling eyes that lingered on him too long. He shouldn't. Tilt her chin. Bring his face closer to hers, rub his nose against hers, as if to test if he could indeed cross this redline. He shouldn't. She was drunk, he was tired. This was something they would both regret. He knew as much. He shouldn't. She tensed at the proximity but never withdrew her head. So he crossed this redline, caught her lips with his. Carefully. A thrill went down his spine and she tensed some more at the contact, her fingers tightening their grip on his clothing. He should stop. He should definitely stop. This wasn't how he wanted their first kiss to be. Not like that. Except she had been staring at him so intensely, so desperately, as if to beg him not to leave. And he didn't know what else to do to prove her he was here for her. No matter what. So he kissed her. When she was drunk, when he was tired. 

A kiss they'd probably both regret. 

He knew as much. 

He had braced himself for rejection, disgust. So his eyes widened big when she actually kissed back. Clumsily. Still, she was kissing back. He had been waiting for that moment. He had been waiting so long. Nevertheless, he should stop. She was drunk and confused. He should stop. But he was kissing her. But she was kissing him. Perhaps it was the one and only time he'd get to. Kiss her. Being kissed by her. So he nibbled on her lower lip. Because he had been waiting for this moment. For her. 

And then rejection came. 

Then she turned her head, broke the kiss, broke free from his embrace even. 

That was to be expected. Still, it hurt. 

"Colonel, I…"

"My apologies" he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, she was beautiful "I… I have no excuse for this."

"Hmm" she shook her head "I-I don't feel so good" right "I-I want to go home now."

After rejection came regret. 

He obliged, opened the door, helped her get in her building, to her apartment, inside her apartment even when she went from feeling to being actually sick. He wasn't surprised she did, after such a drinking spree, and he remained by her side despite her protests. He remained by her side until she felt better, brought her to bed, took off her shoes, put them aside, folded her coat neatly on the chair. Taking care of her. The best he could. He would have cleaned up her stained dress if the spots weren't on an area as sensitive as her chest. 

"Colonel" she called weakly. 

"I'm here" he dared to open her wardrobe, glanced quickly inside "I'm right here" he covered her up with the first blanket he found.

"Don't go" what? "Colonel, don't go."

"I…" he didn't know what she meant, blinked a few times "I'll stay until you fall asleep, okay?"

"Don't go" she just mumbled again, grabbing the sleeve of his uniform. 

So he lied down on the bed next to her, wrapped a comforting arm around her. He didn't expect to fall asleep. Or to wake up with her head on his chest, her arm thrown around his waist, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. He smiled, kissed the top of her head. She was warm, her hair smelt sweet. And he… 

"Colonel? Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

He blinked, pinched the bridge of his nose. Wait, did he… sleep? Space out? Thinking about how intrusive he had been, on the very night he was supposed to… The date. Tonight. He briskly pulled out his watch. Shit, he was late. And to say he still had to change. So late. And his hands were trembling, as if he was nervous. 

Nervous. 

Him. 

On a date. 

Ridiculous.


	13. I wish it was your fault

You rubbed your arm nervously. He was late. He was late and the air was chilly. Not a surprise, at this time of year. Not a surprise, considering his line of work. But here you were, waiting. And he was late. Perhaps you shouldn't have put on that dress, it was too light. Perhaps you shouldn't have come here at all. Your heart was beating so fast. And that wasn't just nervousness. That was actual fear. And guilt. Utter guilt. You were going on a date with a soldier. And not just a casual soldier. The Hero of Ishval. And never you had felt more like a joke.

“Sorry, I'm so late” he said as he opened the door of his car for you “Something came up and I…” he pulled out a bouquet out of nowhere “I almost forgot those.”

Flowers. Of course. He called himself a gentleman after all, he wouldn't show at a date without a bouquet. Daisies. Multicolored daisies. Sincerity. He wanted you to believe he was true. He seemed pretty true. No, you weren't afraid of him. Not on this one. But of your guilt. Your overwhelming guilt.

“It's okay, Colonel” you smiled, a little forcibly “You're here now. Thanks for the flowers, they're gorgeous.”

“Well, I'm off duty so Roy’s fine” he glanced at your outfit “And you are in even grander beauty tonight.”

Roy. His given name. Roy. Your heart beat even faster. Not a soldier, not a colonel, not a State Alchemist, not the Hero of Ishval. Just a man. Roy. 

“Sorry, Colonel” you looked by the window, at the passing street lights “I don't think I can.”

Acknowledging that he was just a man. Not just a war criminal. Not a monster. Just a man. Who did terrible things. Who was acting nice. A paradoxical man. Still a man.

“Ah, it's okay, I assumed as much” he steered the wheel right “I don't mind.”

You found nothing to answer and silence fell. All you could hear was the engine running. Conversation. You had to make conversation. You weren't usually that bad at it. But the fear… But the guilt… He was a man, just a man. Should you really acknowledge him as such?

“It means  _ king _ in Medieval French” you said out of the blue “Roy.”

“Medieval French, uh?” he shook his head, looking quite self-satisfied “That’s classy. And it does make you sound smart.”

“I am not smart” you scoffed “Just read a book about names from the library. It's quite interesting.”

“So you looked up my name, then?” he cockily asked “Though I wonder” his tone became a little more serious “Whose king does that make me?”

Yes, you looked up his name. You had been looking up the name of everyone you happened to have a connection with. Out of curiosity. You didn't expect it to be such a strong word. Roy. The Ancient French for king. And whose king, he asked. His men’s, probably. But, more importantly… 

“Your parents’, I guess” though were they proud of him, the Hero of Ishval? “You're probably a king to them.”

“Ah, you're right” what was with that sad smile? “I probably was.”

Was? Past tense? Shit! Talk about making casual conversation, usually family was a safe subject. Great move, silly. And now what? 

“Sorry, Colonel, I…”

“It's fine” he took a tight turn left then put his hand behind your seat to park properly “You can't know what I don't say” he sighed “We've arrived, my lady, I hope you'll like the place.”

And like the place you did. It was one hell of a classy restaurant. Thank goodness you had put on the best dress you had in the end, something too casual would have been at complete odds. And he seemed at ease, in this environment. With his white shirt, his dark jacket and his bow tie. Except the clothing wasn't falling as perfectly as you thought. Weird, that seemed like the kind of details he'd usually pay attention to. 

“Here you go, Lady Librarian” he helped you sit down at the table “I'll be right back.”

He left, probably for the bathroom, because, when he came back, his coat was neatly folded on his arm before he put it on the chair a little clumsily. You must have seen wrong, the shirt and jacket were fitting him perfectly. Of course it did. He was careful about his looks like that.

“See anything that you like?” he asked as he opened the menu.

Oh well, you were seeing plenty of those. Though you didn't quite like the fact there was no price next to any of the dishes. Or any of the wines. That wasn't quite a surprise, the place was fancy to the point of having a waiter tending to every table personally (and, honestly, that was so weird and you felt a bit spied on) and the Colonel was, well, dressed to impress. 

“Colonel…” you started. 

“Don't bother, you're my guest” his stern tone left no room open for negotiation “Just pick what you want.”

“But…”

“No buts” he frowned “Or I'll get mad. Believe me, this is not something you want to see.”

He was joking. It was a joke. But you tensed all the same and flipped a few pages nervously. Breathe, calm down. This is going well, this isn't going out of hands. You scanned a few dishes, ended up ordering what you thought wouldn't be too expensive, knowing that it would be all the same. Everything was all too classy. And the food all too good. If he was taking all his dates there on the first evening, how much money was he making exactly? All too much for you to even compete.

He was good, though. He was good at this. He was good at making conversation, avoiding subjects he knew could be triggering, mentioning his work once or twice, never dwelling on details. He was good, good at talking about himself, calling his men just by their family names, never by their ranks, going for the anecdotes that would reveal just enough. Except his lips curved when he was saying Hughes’s name. They were friends. Closer friends than you had first thought. Except the fire in his eyes was sparkling when he was speaking Hawkeye’s. They were… hard to say. Symbiotic. Close. More than friends but not lovers. Hard to say. He trusted her and respected her. With his work, with his goal, with his reputation. With his life. He was good, good at avoiding touching you, repressing an urge you could feel all too much. 

He was perfect. 

Almost.

He was still a soldier in the end. 


	14. How many bridges do I still have to burn?

At first, you had thought it was a normal thing for a soldier to do. A habit of some sort. Scanning the surroundings, mapping the area, pinpointing the potential threats, making exit strategies. A habit warriors picked up on the battlefield. But it wasn’t it. Or at least not just it. It was slight but you had noticed. He was on the defensive. On edge. As if he was expecting something bad to happen. Anytime. Was it your fault? Was it because your aversion made him show up in public… unarmed? With no uniform and no ignition gloves? It was slight but you had noticed. He was acting a little weird, sometimes. Each time a sound was a little too loud. Each time someone moved a little too briskly. And he came back from the bathroom with his coat on. 

“I had a great time, Colonel” in the end you kept calling him by his rank, you could have never gone for his given name “Thank you.”

“Me too” he smiled at you, genuinely, he seemed a little more relaxed, now you were out "An evening worth waiting for."

He offered you his arm and you hesitated a few seconds before your hands finally gripped on your purse. No. You couldn't touch him. The memory of that dream was still so vivid. You couldn't touch him. Or you might end up doing something you'd truly regret. Perhaps you already did something you'd truly regret. On that night you couldn't remember. So you just followed him, in silence. The outside air was a little chilly and you shivered. Or perhaps it was with apprehension. Or expectation. 

“Hey” he stopped suddenly “Are you cold?” but before you could answer he took off his scarf and put it gently around your shoulders “Of course you are” his brows frowned “It's just a scarf” he added as he tugged on the fabric a little “Civilian clothing."

You held onto the wool, it was warm and his scent smelt somehow different and yet strangely familiar. Another thrill invaded your body. 

“Do you want my coat too?" he removed his hands from the fabric and took a step back “You're really shaking.”

But that, Colonel, isn't because of the cold air. You shook your head, though, and wrapped yourself in his scarf. It was warm, truly warm. And it smelt nice, really nice. Like clean laundry, like him and also a little of… perfume, maybe? No ashes, no fire. Just of him. The Colonel. And you remembered that smell.

From your dream. 

He had insisted on driving you back to your place, on taking you to the door, arguing there could be danger lurking in the shadows of those narrow corridors. You had tried to talk him out of it but here you both were, standing in the hallway, before your apartment. He looked pretty tired, you wondered if he could make it back to his own house. You were terrified, so terrified. Because, right now, everything was feeling… warm and fuzzy. The wine, probably. His smile wasn’t helping. Seeing him with no uniform wasn’t helping. Ah, damn, he was gorgeous. He looked nothing like a human weapon anymore. Your grip around the daisy bouquet tightened a bit. 

“Thank you” he said out of the blue and you shivered, not knowing what he was actually thanking you for “Despite what happened the other night, you…”

Ah, and to say he avoided the subject the whole evening. That dreadful night lost to oblivion. (Would you ever know?) 

"I told you it's fine" you played with the bouquet nervously "Really."

"It's not" he scoffed "You're on edge."

You went on the date with a military officer, you had a great time with the Hero of Ishval. He had taken you to such a fancy place, had you eat probably the most expensive food in your life and was charming all night. How did he exactly think that’d make you feel? 

“I understand” he shoved both his hands in the pockets of his coat “I should go, then.” 

“Have a good night, Colonel.”

“I will” he smiled “You, as well.”

But he didn’t want to go. You didn’t want him to either. His eyes lingered. On your face. On your lips. Oh no. He took a step forward, you took your eyes off him. He held out a hand, slowly, very slowly. No, no, no. He was getting close, too close. Don't, Colonel, please don't. 

I'm afraid. 

Though his fingers only moved a few bangs away from your forehead and his touch was light, so light. And his smile. And his eyes. 

Don't look at me like that!

“I should really go” his voice was barely a whisper, he moved away “Sorry, I…” he stared at his fingers.

And you froze. Terrified. You were terrified. So terrified. And the guilt, oh the guilt. He was touching you. Touching. You. You dropped the bouquet and the paper wrapping the flowers made a soft sound when it hit the ground. Your hands rose, took fistfuls of his clothing, tugged down on his collar. (I hate you) You brought your face closer to his. (I want you) Closer, closer, closer… (Roy) But it all happened so fast. His body tensed, his hands moved your head which ended up buried in the crook of his neck. So your lips never met. (Why?)

“Don’t” he whispered in your ear “Believe me, you don’t want to do that. Not with me.”

Why? He was always looking at you with those eyes. Those eyes full of fondness. He was always holding back. Whereas he wanted to touch you. To kiss you. He knew you weren't at ease. So he refused to take what you were offering. Yourself.

“Colonel…” your voice sounded so weird.

He refused to take what you were offering. But you were in his arms and he held you closer when you called his rank. He was trembling a little, as if he was aware this simple hug was going too far. His embrace was sad, desperate, a little possessive. He was hugging you like this was the first and last time he'd get to hug you. Pressing you harder against him. Yes, he was insecure.

The Colonel Roy Mustang, an infamous womanizer. Insecure.

Something was wrong. Okay, that embrace was nothing right. But still. Something was wrong. He was holding you close, too close, probably not the outcome he foreplanned when he got dressed. He hadn't been expecting you to find it. 

“Colonel” you put a hand on whatever that hard thing on his side was “Colonel, what is this?”

Though he didn't have to answer. When you put your hand on it, the shape was an obvious one. Even through the layer of his coat. A gun. A gun in its holster wrapped around his waist. You pushed him away in reflex. Not that you actually meant to push the man away. But the hard weapon pressing into your skin as he was holding you.

A gun. He had been cradling you. Against a gun. 

Yes, he was perfect, almost. He was still a soldier. 

With a gun. 


	15. War begins at home

“Colonel” your eyes filled with tears “This is…”

He let go of you. Immediately. He had a gun. Of course he had a gun. He had a gun. A gun. And he had held you. Against that gun. 

"Colonel?" you repeated, bringing your hands to your chest. 

He didn't answer, shoved his hands back in the pockets of his coat and looked away. His brows frowned, he clicked his tongue before clenching his teeth. You opened and closed your mouth several times. You should say something. You should apologize. You tried to kiss him and then you just… pushed him away. With all your might. (But he had a gun) 

"It's for protection” he finally said after long seconds of silence.

“Protection?” only resentment pervaded your voice, so much for an apology “What exactly do you need protection from?”

“Of course” and anger his “You don't know, you’re a civilian” he sighed “There’s a dangerous serial killer on the loose who targets State Alchemists” his tone had become stern and professional “This” he pointed at his waist “Is for protection.”

“Protection? But that thing is meant to kill people!” tears escaped your eyes, rolled down your cheeks "How could you expect to feel safe if you're carrying something like that?"

“I'm not having this conversation” he raised both his hands.

“Colonel!”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head, rubbing his chin. His brows frowned deeper, fiercely. But the flame in his eyes wasn't quite. Fierce. 

"What now?" he asked after long seconds of silence "I don't want us to part on another misunderstanding, but…" he straightened up "If it makes you more comfortable, I'll leave right now."

"No" you answered a little too briskly "I mean, I… I don't want us to part on another misunderstanding either" you pointed at his side "We need to talk… about this" you opened the door "After you."

“Are you sure?” he blinked then frowned “It's late and I don't want to intrude."

Except the way he was looking at you was telling otherwise. He didn't want to go. You had suspected it when he had sent his friend to look after you but it was clear as day now. He didn't want to leave your side. Worse, he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you alone. What did you do exactly? He didn't seem to want to bond with you more intimately. No. He felt like he had to be there. Like being there, by your side, was his duty. What did you do? What did you fucking do? 

"Just get in, Colonel Mustang” but your voice didn't sound confident. 

“Honestly, Lady Librarian” he answered smugly “If you want to give me an order, you have to be more convincing than that.”

You averted your eyes, trying to ignore the slight trembling of your fingers and limbs, trying not to think about how gentle he was when he picked up the daisy bouquet or how close his body was to yours when he crossed the threshold. Trying not to think that you were letting the Hero of Ishval in your home.

Willingly this time.

“Hang your coat wherever” you waved at the hangers by the door "Coffee?”

“I'd rather have tea, if possible” he slid his coats only mid-shoulders so you couldn't even catch a glimpse of the holster “I'll join you there" he glanced at his side "You don't have to look at it.”

Except violence, in its own way, could be fascinating. And you wanted to see. Violence. His ongoing, raging war. 

"Show it to me."

"I don't want to upset you any more" he sounded genuinely concerned "This is a lot more than a pair of gloves."

"Show it to me" he insisted "Colonel, please."

"Fine" he sighed, shrugged off his coat. 

And you saw. 

It wasn't much, less than you thought actually. The holster was tied around his shoulder and waist, hiding most of it so the only thing you could see was the grip of the gun. The grip. So he could easily, quickly draw. Yes, that was the purpose of it. 

"Satisfied?" he asked, gently turning his back on you as he started to take it off "I'll keep it by my coat, if that's okay with you."

You didn't answer. You held out an unsteady hand, put in on the holstered gun. You blinked, not really understanding your own gesture. A weapon. His weapon. A burden. His heavy burden. But he was quick, grabbed your wrist to force your hand down, off him. 

"Don't" he just said "This is not…"

"Do you feel safer… with that?"

"Not really" he loosened his grip but he didn't let go of your wrist "But at least it'd help me carry out my duty if needed."

"Your duty?"

"To serve" he shifted his hand to take yours, slowly "And protect."

You shivered, stared at his back. His hand was cold, callous and his skin dry. And his touch was light, so light. He opposed no resistance when you swiftly withheld your hand in reflex. No. (Hands of a murderer) No, no, no. 

"I…" your voice was blank "I'll make us some tea."

You dashed to the kitchen, took a deep breath, put the kettle to boil, tea in the pot. He brought a gun to your house. No, you let him bring a gun to your house. And he held your hand. No, you let him hold your hand. You initiated contact. You tried to kiss him as well. You just hadn't expected a weapon. No uniform, no ignition gloves, he had said. What was the point, if he was planning on bringing a gun since the very beginning? Would you have kissed (again?) if that weapon wasn't there? 

“Let me” he took the kettle off your trembling hand “You'll burn yourself.”

You let him. Pour the boiling water in the pot in a swift and precise gesture. Holding the kettle with that hand. With that hand that was on yours a few minutes ago. (The hand of a murderer) 

"Sorry" he apologized softly "I took the liberty of" he sighed "My deepest apologies."

"It’s okay” you bashed your eyelids, looked away “I… just… You’re always kind to me” shut up, shut up, shut up “Though you know I don’t even like you.”

“Yeah, you don’t” he scoffed “Obviously” he frowned once more “Do you even believe the lies you tell yourself?”

Yes. 

No.

Of course, not! But you had no other choice. Honestly, feeling like this for an officer, a State Alchemist, a glorified criminal… No, you couldn’t. 

But you did, didn't you? On that night you couldn't remember. And now he was acting on it. 

And now it was all too late. 

Colonel, you’ve smothered all my beliefs.

I hate you, I really hate you. 


	16. Reach out, touch faith

I hate you, Colonel. I really hate you. 

Because… 

“You…” you quickly dried the two tears that escaped your eyes “You brought a gun to our first date. You…”

It was slight but his fingers twitched when he heard you call tonight your first date. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed.

“You weren't supposed to know that” he closed the teapot, watched the steam go up dreamily “Look, I…” he hissed "The threat is real, you know, State Alchemists are targeted” he passed an angry hand in his hair “Look, I could…”

“We were having a moment…”

Your faces had been so close, your lips almost brushing. Your face had been so close, buried in the crook of his neck, buried in his scent. Your bodies had been so close, yours against his, his arms around you. You had been so close. You had been so close and it had felt so good. You had felt exactly like you belonged. There. In his arms. And the hard cold weapon had been pressing into your waist. He had been holding you. Against his gun. 

“Yes, we were” he gritted his teeth “I just didn't want you to…”

“To what?” you spat “To realize there is this…” you waved your hands “This omnipresent violence around you? To face your own violence? To…?”

“To worry about me!” he shouted to cover your voice, he was angry again “Because I am in danger” he scoffed “The threat is real” he passed his hands on his face “I've faced worse but the threat is real.”

“How?” 

Come on, he was…

“You don't get it, do you?” he sounded so sarcastic “A serial killer who targets State Alchemists will eventually target me too. My life is in danger, I could die” he clicked his tongue and looked away “I didn’t want you to worry about me, that’s all.” 

Wh-What? Danger? Die? No. No, he couldn’t. He was a deadly human weapon, the Hero of Ishval, the Flame Alchemist. You put a hand on your mouth. He couldn’t die by the hand of a mere serial killer. Not he who survived the battlefield. Not he who could wield fire. He couldn’t die. More tears flooded your face. No. He was a weapon. A very powerful weapon. It felt as if earth suddenly opened beneath your feet. He couldn’t be that painfully human. 

“B-But, Colonel” you started with a weak voice “You are… the He…”

“No, I’m not” he cut you “A hero. A survivor, at best” he stared at his hands as his voice almost died out “Definitely not a hero” he straightened up, dried your tears off with the back of his fingers “Heroes don’t make ladies cry.”

You hated him. You hated him so much. You hated that he was in danger, on an everyday basis. You hated that he was reminding you he was in danger on an everyday basis, that he was reminding you he could get killed so easily. And you hated that feeling in your chest even more. It was fear. Tremendous fear. Panic, almost. Whoever that serial killer was, he couldn’t be that strong, could he? He couldn’t take down someone as powerful as the Flame Alchemist that easily, could he? He couldn’t go that stupidly, that idiotic colonel, exit your life that absurdly. Not after insisting so much on entering it. Not after you finally allowed him in. No, no, no, no, no.

“I…” you put your hand on his wrist but he withdrew his hand from your touch, probably in reflex "I’m afraid” you confessed and your voice sounded so blank. 

“Why?” he smirked “Could it be that you worry about me?”

He was obviously fooling around, to take this on a lighter note. But it somehow felt weird to hear him voice it so casually. And, to be honest, he didn’t sound quite that confident either. Perhaps he was afraid too. Unless it was something else. 

“What do you think?” you asked between clenched teeth.

You’d like to say that he had it coming. That, after the awful things he performed in Ishval, it was only poetic justice. That, as an object of hatred in the nation, as a dog of the military, he shouldn’t be surprised he was made a target so easily. That, knowing who he was, you shouldn’t be surprised he was made a target so easily. Though you were. Surprised, astonished, dumbfounded. Though you were. Afraid, terrified, panicked. You, afraid to lose a soldier. You, afraid of losing a glorified killer. So much for poetic justice… So much for hating him, even… You couldn't lose him. You wanted him. Right now, you wanted him. To kiss you, to hold you. To make the solemn promise he would never exit your life. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“I won’t die” he sighed dramatically as he opened your cupboards randomly, pulled out the first two cups he found and poured you some tea “I won't let something like that happen” he handed you a cup “That’s not what I’ve planned for my future.” 

“But…” 

“But violence is familiar. It’s part of my job, it’s even part of my life” oh, he sure was saying a lot all of a sudden “You don't have to” he mused “Touch me, hold me, let alone try to kiss me” he smiled at you “I know how you feel towards the military. And, even if I appreciate the efforts you have made so far" that smile, though, was really unfair "You don't have to become familiar with that violence. Not when you look so afraid” he sipped on his drink “Ah, shame, it’s too strong, I’ve waited too long.” 

But you had to. Touch him, hold him. You wanted him like that, you needed him like that. You were at loss for words again. He was beautiful. So beautiful. With his brows frowned with resolve, with that fierce flame in his tired black eyes, with his lips traveling alongside the rim of the cup, his mouth half-opened as if he was looking for more words to add. He was beautiful. And close. So close. You held out a hand to remove a few bangs from his eyes. His hair was soft. So soft. And he tensed in surprise. He had asked you to believe him, told you you didn't want to do that (with him). Except now as well you really wanted to kiss this tantalizing mouth of his.

Weapon, violence, fear or not. 

Yes, you hated it. The gun. The reminder you could lose him in the blink of an eye. But, him, you… 

“I should go” he stated “It’s indecently late.” 

“Please” your fear spiked up for some reason, perhaps because now you knew how real the threat was “Please be careful.”

“I will” he ruffled your hair “Like I said, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon" he smirked "Don't look at me like that or I'll start believing you truly worry about me."

Yes.

Of course you were worried. 

You cared.

Worse. 

You liked him. A lot.

And you couldn't picture a life without him. 

Shit. 


	17. And, if the lights were out, would you even dare?

"I should go" he stated "It's indecently late."

She was on edge, still. He could see that, how her body tensed suddenly. The eyes she laid on him. Ah, come on. She shouldn't look at him like that. That wasn't fair. It had been hard, not to think about it all night. Because she was beautiful. Utterly beautiful. In that dress, with her hair, her makeup. It had been hard. Not to think about the kiss. Not to think how bad he wanted to kiss her right now. And how afraid he was to actually do so.

"Please" those eyes, really, those gorgeous eyes "Please be careful."

"I will" he ruffled her hair, tenderly "Like I said, I don't plan on dying anytime soon" those splendid, full of concern eyes… he couldn't help smirking "Don't look at me like or I'll start believing you truly worry about me."

She lowered her head and looked away in embarrassment. The joke had hit too close to home and she was more worried than he actually thought. Her hand hesitated, moved to clumsily grab his shirt. No, she wasn't worried. She was panicked. Well, he didn't want her to know for a reason. Great move, Colonel Mustang. And now what? 

"What do you think?" she said once again, in a low voice.

"My apologies" he put his cup down on the counter in a firm clank, dared to throw a comforting arm around her shoulders “I’ll keep you posted” what could he do? “I’ll call you everyday if that makes you feel better.” 

She shook her head frantically and yet pressed her face against his chest some more, both her hands now taking fistfuls of his top. She was as unreadable as always and he didn’t know how far he could go. She was pretty close already, a hug should be safe. So he squeezed her shoulders, a bit, in comfort and ran a comforting hand on her back. And he wanted to. Kiss her. Her forehead, her temples, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. And he was afraid. Afraid she’d turn her head and refuse the kiss once more. That was the kind of rejection he couldn’t face. Not when he was holding her so close to his heart. 

“Colonel” her voice sounded weird, just like the other night “Colonel, I…” 

Perhaps she wanted to. Kiss him. She had tried to, earlier on, and he had been the one refusing it this time. He was afraid. Afraid she might be acting on an impulse she’d regret. He didn’t want her to have regrets about him, never. That was the kind of rejection he couldn’t face. Not after she pressed her lips back against his, clumsily and shyly, in his car. 

“Colonel, you…”

She didn’t know what to say. She was probably trying to make him stay a little longer. Outside, he had to carry that gun. And the thought itself was enough to frighten her. So she was trying to have him stay as long as she could. Trying to find some words to say. Looking at him so intensely. Ah, cute. And unfair. Terribly unfair. She was distraught, he couldn’t ruin their second kiss. He already ruined their first one. 

“You’re cute when you worry about me” he teased a bit, passed a gentle hand in her hair “But I’ll be fine, I swear" and that look in her eyes wasn’t fair either “It’s late and you work tomorrow…”

It was an excuse. A pitiful excuse. Because he was afraid, utterly afraid. It was his fault, he kissed her in the first place. When he never should have. Because he knew. He knew it would only confuse her some more, he knew it would make him want her some more. And that was terribly frightening. 

“Don’t go” she whispered “Don’t go, Colonel, I’m scared. I’m so scared.” 

“Don’t be” well, easier said than done, and he was one to talk “Unless it’s your way of asking me to spend the night?” he purred. 

Come on, why was he teasing? Why was he joking about that? Of course, he wanted to spend the night. Of course, he wanted to lay down by her side, wrap his arms around her, listen to her peaceful and regular breathing. Of course, he wanted to wake up with her head against his chest. He shouldn’t joke about those matters. He gritted his teeth, he really was stupid sometimes. 

“I-I…” great, now she was embarrassed “I-I do-don’t…” 

“Hey, it’s alright” his lips curved into a sad smile “I was merely joking, I’m sorry” his eyelids half-closed “I wouldn’t impose myself like that, especially not after the other night.”

She tensed, looked away and clenched her fists the very second he mentioned it. Nice move, once again. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? Why was he always messing things up? Honestly, usually he was at ease around women so why was he so… clumsy? Clumsy, him. That was so absurd. 

“I told you you had nothing to apologize for” her voice was suddenly low, and hesitant “Told you everything’s fine” embarrassed?

She was pretending that she was. Fine with it. But he knew it was confusing her, somehow. Trying to kiss him but also trying to ignore that it actually happened before. The other night was still confusing her. Like it was still confusing him.

“Yeah, sure, it is” he sighed “That’s why you’re trying to reproduce the same pattern” he shook his head, he shouldn't confront her like that “Kissing me, asking me not to leave.”

He should shut up. He should definitely shut up. He was the one not at ease with the situation. He was the one who…

“What?” she let out before putting her hand on her mouth.

She was acting weird all of a sudden. Her eyes were widening with realization and… pain? Seriously? How come she hadn’t noticed? It was obvious they were trying to reenact that night. How come she hadn’t seen? Unless she… 

“Right” he hissed “You don’t remember, do you?” she carefully avoided his eyes “Of course, you don’t.”

“Colonel, I…” 

“You were drunk, in a bar, with a man” don’t, Roy “You called me to pick you up, which I did” don’t tell her like that “I gave you a drive home. We had a moment, in the car, and we kissed” she twitched, almost imperceptibly “Or, to be more honest, I kissed you” her eyes filled with tears and he scoffed “Of course, you turned me down.”

But, right after, you begged me not to go. And slept in my arms. But he remained silent about that. Because she was already crying. Because he always ended up making her cry. He should leave her alone, probably. He was just confusing her some more. Because he didn't know what she wanted from him. Because he didn't know what to do. 

“I…” 

“I guess I should go."

So he'd better leave. Before going too far again. Before doing something that made her angry with him once more. 

“Colonel” his rank, always his rank “Colonel, don’t…” never his name. 

Before he started to care more than he ever should. 


	18. To kiss her full on the mouth or anywhere

You couldn't sleep. And, to be honest, you weren't sure you would be able to fall asleep tonight. Not with your heart beating so fast. Not with your belly this knotted up. Not with your body shivering like that. Not with your brain going in every direction at once and ending up in the same place, always. 

Roy. Roy. Roy. 

And the fear. And the dread. And the panic. If at least you could understand why. Why the fear was so intense. And why it wasn't decreasing. At all. 

"Breathe" he whispered, rubbed your back gently "I'm here, I'm right here."

Because he indulged. In everything. When you kept repeating you were scared, he just held you. Closer and closer. When you begged him not to leave, pressing your face hard against his chest, he kept repeating he wasn't going anywhere. And when, for some reason, fear turned into a panic attack, he tried his best to comfort you. He was still trying, very hard, even if he was at an obvious loss. He went as far as agreeing to spend the night. Holding you, all shivering, in his arms firmly. Rubbing your back, petting your hair. He was trying the best he could. Except the panic wasn't easing. And you couldn't understand why. 

"What is it?" he tried once again and you just tensed "I'm sorry, I…" he ran a gentle hand through your locks "No matter what, I won't let you down, you know that, right?"

You couldn't understand. He was kind. Real kind. He was hurt and sad, so hurt and sad you couldn't remember that he kissed you he wanted to leave. And yet he remained. Yet you were both lying in your bed and he was trying his best to comfort you. Except the panic wasn't easing. And you couldn't understand why. 

"Co… lo… nel" you couldn't even say his name "Co…" you couldn't even breathe "Lo… nel…"

"Easy" yet his tone remained professional "Slow, and deep" even if his fingers trembled when he cupped your cheek "I'm here. I'm here and you're safe. I'm safe. This is safe."

His words were powerful. So powerful. But the dread was stronger. And you clung onto him. You clung onto him so hard. As if you could lose him any second. Stupid thought. Stupid brain. Stupid… 

"Co… lo… nel" tears quietly streamed down your cheeks "I-I… I… I-I…"

"Don't talk, dammit" he kissed your forehead, your temple "Just breathe" he started to sound really desperate "Breathe, okay?"

And so he held you. The whole time it lasted. So he kept talking to you. Until you relaxed. Until you relaxed a bit and dared to lay on him eyes still full of tears. He looked beautiful, laying in your bed, in the artificial light, frowning a little and scanning your face. He looked beautiful, so beautiful. No, you couldn't lose him. Not anymore. You couldn't even be apart from him. Not even one second. Shit. 

"Feeling better, silly lady?" his lips curved in a concerned smile. 

"Colonel" it was still, somehow, difficult to properly breathe "Don't go" your hand felt abnormally light when you put it on his clothed chest "Don't you ever… ever go" he couldn't die, he couldn't leave "I am… I need…" him, you needed him, he had no right "I…" not anymore. 

"Sssh" he dried your face with his sleeve "I'm here, I'm right here" stroked your face with the back of his fingers "I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you" oh, the burning flame in his dark eyes "With you."

Your heart raced against your ribcage. The words he was saying, sometimes… was he even aware? Probably. He was giving off those kinds of vibes as well. And you twisted the fabric of his top between your fingers. Nervously. 

"Your shirt is ruined" you glanced at his sleeve, stained with tears, snot and makeup. 

"I don't care."

And, naturally, he brought his face closer to yours. And slowly, naturally, his lips were on yours. Once more. In a kiss that was shy. All too shy. He shivered when your mouths made contact, tensed a bit even, probably aware of the dreadful red line he had already crossed. And was crossing again. You gripped on him a little tighter, kissed back, trying not to show how eager you actually were this was finally happening. Or happening again, for him at least. You had wanted him. You had wanted him to kiss you all night. A shame you had to end up in such a pitiful state for him to finally dare to. Once more. And he was soft. Really soft. And sweet. So sweet. 

Roy.

Roy, I am… 

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, brought you close, real close. His embrace was firm, a bit possessive, his limbs shivering, the memory of your past rejection plaguing his every gesture, obviously. He was afraid, really afraid. Afraid you’d say no, afraid you’d ask him to stop. It was something close to a miracle you were kissing (again). You jolted in surprise when you felt him nibble on your lower lip. Permission. Of course. He was considerate like that. And he seemed even shyer, doing that. And that was cute. That was immensely cute. 

Roy.

Roy, you are… 

You parted your lips, a bit, your heart beating with wild expectation against your ribcage. A thrill went down your spine and you moaned a bit when his tongue went straight for yours. And it wasn’t anything you expected it to be. He had a reputation, as a womanizer. You expected him to kiss you with the solemnity of someone who had kissed many. He didn’t. He wasn’t even solemn at all. On the contrary. That was messy, clumsy, hurried and desperate. He really was afraid. Afraid you’d ask him to stop. Anytime now. So you cupped his cheek with your hand, stroking his face with your thumb. His skin was smooth and he shivered a bit at the unexpected contact. Though he relaxed. Though he kissed you less desperately after that. And he had a reputation, as a womanizer. Turns out he was, indeed, really good. As good as he was said to be. Perhaps even more. 

“Sorry” he still apologized after, as if he wasn’t so sure this was how you wanted him “Sorry, I…” 

“Don’t stop” you whined as you tugged on his collar “Colonel.”

“Roy” he sighed as he shifted in a more comfortable position “You really have to learn to call me by my name” he trailed light kisses on your cheek and neck “Or to at least admit you really like calling me by my rank.” 

“Wh-What?” your face flushed in an instant “I don’t!”

“I know you don’t” he chuckled “Just like I also know how much you hate me.”

That was a joke, right? So why was he sounding so strange? You frowned but before you could protest, he kissed you once again. With a little more confidence, this time. Okay, right. That wasn’t a joke. That was how insecure he actually was about your feelings for him.

Roy. Roy, please. 

Don't ever let me go. 


	19. To find one’s place in the hierarchy

The fear never left since that night. You were paranoid. How quick you had been to judge him whereas you were now the one with soldier habits you never picked on the battlefield. Could this one be a threat? Or this one? That one, maybe? You were paranoid. Whoever that serial killer might be, they were unlikely to go after you: he had told you they were targeting State Alchemists only, not even close family, friends or relatives. And he was powerful, the Colonel Mustang. He was called a hero for a reason, whether he liked it or not. Whether you liked it or not. He was powerful. No need for paranoia. And yet… Yet, the fear never left since that night. Neither did the memories of the two of you making out in your bed. It had felt good. It had felt so good. Being held by him, being kissed by him. And now you were afraid of losing him, so afraid of losing him. Panicked, even. So panicked you were seeing threats everywhere. 

“The boss wants to see you.”

Of course the boss wanted to see you. You weren't quite your usual self. It didn't show much at work, on the contrary you had thrown yourself into it. First, not to overthink the hypothesis that the Colonel might actually die, despite how confident about not dying he might have sounded. Second, because that, maybe, if you were to handle every military file, you'd find a clue, anything. Stupid thought, all those files were irrelevant. But it was at least giving you something to hold onto. Well, probably not, now your boss knew you were reading the files you were supposed to process for the archives.

“Please, come in.”

“Ma’am” you straightened up as you opened the door “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes” her eyebrows narrowed, she looked dead serious, it was bad “Please have a seat.”

You obliged, keeping your head low, passing your hands under your skirt carefully. Ready to be scolded, ready to be asked what was wrong. But she remained silent. Opened a file. Your file. You'd recognize that embarrassing picture everywhere. Your file. Really, really bad. But you didn't ask. You waited for the storm to break loose.

“Well, what I have to say is tricky” she sighed “To say the least. But it's been a few years you had been working here. And, so far, we have been very happy with the work you're doing.”

So far. Okay, that definitely wasn't going well for you. She was about to fire you, wasn't she? Ah, come one, that couldn't be! Sure, you were a little out of it lately but you had made sure to do your job as properly as always. Even more properly. That couldn't be! Unless… unless someone saw you read these army files. Fuck, they were useless, irrelevant, empty. You couldn't have lost your job over a mistake that stupid! 

“Hey, relax” she chuckled “I am not getting rid of you. It'd be such a bad move. You work well. And fast. Especially in the archives. No other librarian is as effective as you are, that classification method being… well, the military’s idea of efficiency.”

The classification wasn't that hard to understand once you had taken in consideration it was made by soldiers. It wasn't your usual logic, like chronology or the alphabet. It was made so you could access the most important information (the officer that issued the demand, his superior officer, stuff like that) in a glance. And go up all the chain of command. It was easy, really. In one look, you could see who could be held responsible for what. Very military-like indeed.

“It's just different from our system” you scratched your cheek, a bit nervously “Once you've understood it, you go much faster.”

At least, she hadn't realized you had been reading them, those files. Or she didn't seem to. 

“Maybe. But you have understood that system. And that hadn't gone unnoticed” she slowly slid a thin file in your direction “Like every year, I had to submit our stats to the military because, well, they want to have an insight on how we handle their files. And” she tapped her index on the file “Your statistics impressed them.”

Impressed? Them? Wait, whom? The military? Oh no, no, no, no. No way. No work for the army. Never. Being all over the place because of that idiotic and yet awfully hot and nice colonel was enough. No. No work for the army. Never. 

“Whatever they're offering…” 

“I know how you feel towards the military. You don't have to accept. It's an offer, not an order” she slipped the file a few inches more in your direction “But, please, tell me you'd at least consider the option. Central is a real career opportunity. Especially at your young age.”

“Central?” you grabbed the file with trembling fingers. 

“See for yourself.”

You opened it. Scanned the words quickly. Come on, that was written by an officer, probably. A soldier, anyway. So that kind of information should be… there, somewhere. ‘In regard to your efficiency’, yes, first the flattery. ‘As specified in the legislative article 4.1-2’, second, the law. And third, the decision. Central Library, Archives Department, section yet to be assigned. Shit. For real? Come on, you weren't an army affiliate, you never set foot in the Eastern Headquarters, you didn't even work with anyone from said Headquarters. The only soldier you knew was the Colonel and your relationship wasn't exactly professional. Central, why Central? 

“I don't understand” you started, a bit hurriedly “I never…”

“I know” her smile was quite benevolent “You didn't ask, they offered. I just received it this morning, they don't expect an answer right away. Take some time to consider.”

“I… I will” you stammered “It's just… my hands are pretty full right now and… And this is big.”

Speaking of which… And the Colonel in all this? Central was far away and he was a busy man.

“I've noticed” her smile gained some more warmth “It's been a little while. Your work is still great. But you look… preoccupied. It's personal, I get it. That offer didn't arrive at a good time” she made an intended pause “If you need anything…”

“I appreciate, ma’am.”

“Take the rest of the day off” she folded her hand under her chin “Take a breather. Process that offer. I've said it before: you don't have to accept. You will always have a place there, with us, at Eastern Library.”

She was kind. She was really kind. You smiled back, a little forcibly. There was the Colonel in that equation too. Central was out of the question. Being miles apart wouldn't help. Because you cared. Because you kissed. No matter how confused that made you feel. 

“No need, ma’am, I can work. But thank you.”

“Yes, you can work. But you won't. Go home, rest.”

She was kind. Really kind. 

But all you could think was Roy. Roy lying in your bed, Roy kissing you. Roy. And how bad you didn't want to be apart from all that. Not anymore. 


	20. Now you have me torn

You weren’t looking. You weren’t looking, keeping your head down, staring at your feet. Holding the file close to your chest. Central. How on Earth did this happen? Was it some kind of reward for being great at your job? You should stop thinking about the promotion. You'd refuse anyway. No need to beat yourself over it. Not when you should have looked. But you weren’t. Looking. Walking your way to your apartment by automatism. You weren’t looking. 

You didn't expect anyone to be here, let alone the collision.

The impact.

Your eyes widened as you bumped into someone. Quite violently. You took a step back instinctively and your first reflex was to unlift your arms of this unnecessary burden by dropping the file on the floor. Dozens of pages scattered in a soft sound. Dozens of pages. It felt terribly like a déjà vu.

“Honestly, Lady Librarian” he chastised “If you wanted to reenact how we first met, you should have just said so.”

“Colonel…” you whispered, a bit out of it “What are you doing here?”

The Colonel. The Colonel was here. It had been days. Days. Days since you had that tea. Days since you had that conversation. Days since he had told you he was in danger and you were worried he could actually… disappear. But here he was. Okay. Tired but okay. Alive. Safe. Sound. But here he was, kneeling in the corridors, gathering your scattered sheets. Realizing how gorgeous he looked, how the uniform actually looked good on him (did it always?), you were just dumbfounded. 

Kiss me, Roy. 

“I wanted to see you, it’s been a few days since our date” he got up, brushed the dirt off his knees “I wanted to check on you and…” he frowned “Are you okay, though?”

Okay? Uh, you weren’t sure. You were feeling lightheaded and your vision blurred with tears. He was okay. He was fine. He was here. He was alive. And the fear that never left since that night, even if it didn't quite disappear, lightened so much all of a sudden you had tears in your eyes. You had been worried, oh so worried. About a soldier. About the Hero of Ishval. Still, all you wanted was a casual greeting kiss.

“Y-Yeah” you stammered “I just didn’t expect to find you here.”

Roy, I’ve been worrying about you. I’m so happy you’re alive and well.

Say it.

“Here” he said as he handed you the file “Going somewhere?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I happened to see the job offer, while I…” he sighed “Sorry, this is none of my business.”

“Have you eaten yet, Colonel?”

That was random. That was completely random but it was the only thing you could think of to have him stay a little more. Lunch.

“Ahem, no but” he pointed out the exit “I'm still on duty.”

“Come, I’ll fix us something” don't go, Colonel “Duty or not, you're allowed a lunch break, right?”

Don't go. Please don't go. I'm so worried.

“Sure, but I don’t want to impose myself” he frowned again “And I’m still…” he waved at himself “Like I said, on duty.”

Though you couldn't care less now. About the uniform, about the weapons, about the violence. He was alive. He was here. Before you. 

“I don't care” you said though you tensed a bit “And you don’t impose yourself, I’m offering” you unlocked the door and waved him in “After you, make yourself at home.” 

You stepped in, put down your keys in their usual bowl, by the entrance, hung your coat, threw your file on the first piece of furniture you found and got to the kitchen. You opened the fridge, pulled out the ingredients as you started cooking in silence, focused. 

“Excuse me.”

He stood by your side to open cupboards, drawers at random as if he was looking for something. There wasn’t much space and he happened to brush against you a few times. You considered yourself lucky you sliced the chicken and not your finger when he put a hand on your hip to tiptoe and open the cupboard on your left. Your heart sank. His hand. On your hip. Firm and steady.

“Colonel” your voice quivered “If you could just tell me what you’re looking for…”

Since when was he comfortable enough around you to casually touch you like that? 

“Sorry” he apologized, withdrew his hand the very second he realized where it was “I really am sorry. I didn't mean to. I just… My…” not quite comfortable in the end “I was looking for plates and such. To dress the table.”

“Over there” you pointed out the sink, probably as red as your tomato sauce “Th-They should be dry already.” 

You both remained silent when he dressed the table, when you brought the food, sat down. He complimented you on your cooking and you blushed a little in embarrassment. You remained silent until he asked again.

“Are you going somewhere?” he frowned “The file.”

“Ah, that” that bite was somehow hard to swallow “It's a promotion. I've been working the archives pretty efficiently” you stared at your plate “So efficiently they want me in the capital” you looked away.

“The Central Archives, uh?” he cracked an awkward smile “I guess congratulations are in order” he rubbed his chin and pondered “Central is a great opportunity, you should take it. Even if you resent everything tied to the military, you could just take it to step up until you'll find something more to your liking” he explained dreamily “It's the capital after all.”

What? Why was he pushing you? You couldn’t understand. That hand on your hip had been firm and stern, not quite a hand that was ready to let go of you. He had kissed and held you desperately, not quite the actions of a man who was ready to let go. And now he was saying that you should just… leave? It wasn’t making any sense. He had been trying really hard when you showed all fear and hatred, and now you were starting to get comfortable with each other he was willing to let you go? Unless he only thought about how great a promotion it’d be for you. After all, his job was all about climbing the ladder. Except you weren’t sure you were ready to cast (him) your whole life aside for a better paycheck.

“Colonel” you confessed “I’m not really interested in going to Central.” 

“It’d be good for your career, though” his brows narrowed “Think about the ties and connections you can make there” yes, definitely a soldier today.

“I don’t care."

You didn't want to go somewhere he wasn't. As much as you hated admitting it. You cared. 

“Central is a pretty city” he went on, the eyes he laid on you were strange, sparkling somehow with… excitement? “I know a place or two you may like” he smiled “I could take you there if you’ll have me.”

You were understanding less and less. What the hell was he talking about? Nice places in Central? Taking you there? Like… on dates? But he was stationed in East Ci… 

Oh. For real? 


	21. Unless I’m certain I’m following the right path

“Colonel” your eyes widened in realization “You are…”

“I didn’t say anything” he raised a hand to stop you “Nothing’s official.”

So he was moving up. To Central. Weird. It was all too sudden, never did he mention he could be called somewhere else. You shivered. You didn’t like this promotion and, when you should be happy for him, all you were left with was an uneasy feeling. Why, Colonel? Why Central? Why now? 

“I won’t tell anyone” you frowned, drank a little water to help you keep your composure “When should it be… official?”

“Soon” he gently put down his fork and knife and folded his hands before his face “Hughes told me I should expect to be called in in the days to come.”

Hughes? Ah, yes, his friend was working in the Intelligence Department, you remembered. They were close, for sure: the goofy man had been calling the Colonel by his first name all the time. But you never suspected they could pass information to one another. Which was logical, though, with them both being soldiers. Still, both your promotion and his happening at the same time seemed a little too neat. Your bad feeling remained. 

“I see” you put your own empty plate aside “I will keep quiet, don't worry."

“When it’ll be official, I’ll formally ask all my men to follow me there” he leaned back in his chair “So I’m going to ask you now, since my hands will soon be too full for that” his face was dead serious “Fill that reassignment form and follow me to Central” that sounded like an order.

And he truly looked like the commanding officer right now. Exhaling such authority you didn’t have the strength to say anything. Or to even protest. But you hadn’t been lying: you weren’t really interested in going to Central. You had a pretty stable and decent life in East City and it wasn’t really your type to follow a man you barely knew on a whim. Especially when things were a little too neat. 

“Colonel, I ha…”

“I won’t take no for an answer” crap, he really didn’t like not being obeyed.

“Don't order me around" you scoffed "I am not one of your men.”

“You could be” he crossed his arms on his chest and his face turned smug all of sudden “I could use a secretary to help me with all that paperwork and I've heard of someone who is pretty skilled at sorting military reports. When she doesn’t scatter them on the floor, that is.” 

“Really” you sighed deeply “Don’t you think your excuse to have me wear that army blue skirt is a little too obvious?”

You shouldn’t turn that into a joke. It’d mean you were okay with him asking to move alongside him as if you were actually under his command. Which you weren’t. Central wasn’t that far by train. But things wouldn’t really be the same. No more casual lunch like this one. No more Colonel showing up at your door randomly. No more dates. No more kisses. That'd be so sad, somehow.

“Ah, too bad” he giggled “My strategy has been exposed” though his brows narrowed and he became serious again “Fill that form. Come to Central with me.”

He was really stunning, fierce and stern, with his crossed arms, his crossed legs. He was insisting, he probably would until you'd say yes or no. It was cute somehow: he wanted to keep you by his side so bad he was willing to give you a direct order, despite how you felt towards the military. Wait. Direct order, the two of you being both promoted, Central Military Archives, someone pretty good at sorting military reports, his insistence. Wait. 

"This is your doing, right?" you arched a brow "My promotion."

He looked away, hissed and clicked his tongue. It was. Of course, it was! Who else could it have been? Who else in the military would care about a civilian librarian? 

"What did you do that for?" but he didn't answer "Colonel?"

"Because I'm being deployed. In Central" he drummed his fingers against his arm "I'm a soldier, I can't refuse, unlike you" he… blushed a little? "You asked me not to go but the fact is I am. Going. So I thought that if you followed me there then I wouldn't really… be leaving you" he scratched the back of his head "Sorry if it's not to your convenience. You can still refuse" he averted his eyes "But I, myself, can't remain in the East."

“Colonel, I…” you stared at your glass of water “I…” 

“I'm sorry" he repeated "I tried and tried but I could think of no other way to keep you by my side.”

He held out his hand, put it on your arm. You tensed, shivered. His hand travelled down to your wrist, rested skin against skin, testing if he could go further before taking your fingers, just your fingers as if he was afraid a little more would spook you.

“And” he squeezed them gently “I'd like to keep my promise to you” he sounded sad “I can't afford to lose you.”

What? What was he talking about? Losing you? 

“If I don't see you again” really sad “That'd be a loss.”

His hand no longer was shy. It took yours, your fingers entwined. He whispered your name, softly and his eyes lingered on your face. Travelled down to your lips. He wanted to. Kiss you. But he wasn't making a move. Just stroked your skin with his thumb. He wasn't making a move. And you stared. Kiss me. If you ask me to abandon everything just to follow you, you could at least… 

“He's pitiful, uh?” he shook his head “The infamous skirt-chasing Flame Colonel.”

No, he wasn't. Pitiful. He was insecure. Sure, he was like the rumors on the outside. Charming, self-confident, flirtatious with the ladies. But now his hand was just shaking.

"Colonel, I… I can't give you an answer…. right now, I" you ruffled your hair "This is a lot and… I know you need an answer but… can you wait? A bit?"

"Sure" though his brows narrowed and his hand squeezed yours as if looking for some kind of comfort "Don't make a decision you will regret."

Ouch, okay, that hurt indeed. Again, he was insecure. So insecure he was probably seeing in the fact you never said yes the promise of your future refusal. And that also hurt. 

"Do you" you lowered your head a little more "Do you want any dessert… or anything?"

He bursted into a clear laughter and you could feel your cheeks blush suddenly. Why was he laughing? Sure, your attempt at changing the subject sucked but he didn't have to laugh at you like that. It was so embarrassing. 

"Don't make fun of me" you pouted. 

"I'm not" he raised a placating hand "The moment was so solemn, I just didn't expect that" he pinched the bridge of his nose, still laughing a little "Sorry, I'm tired. I'll have whatever you're having."

And, when he smiled at you, his smile was so bright. So beautifully bright. 


	22. To see past uncertainties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to you all!

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please" he dried his hands, letting out a big sigh "Also, could you make it strong? I need to survive this afternoon" he rolled his eyes "And the paperwork."

"Sure" you giggled, glancing at him. 

He looked really tired, passing a hand on his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Would coffee be enough? He repressed a yawn and you highly doubted so. Though you also knew all you could say wouldn't change a single thing. For he was stubborn like that. 

"How can I help?" his eyes moved from the pot to the coffee you were holding, travelling alongside your hand and fingers "Do you need…?"

"No" your lips curved into a soft smile "You're supposed to be my guest, remember" you scoffed "And you did the dishes already."

"Fine, fine" he raised both his hands in surrender, leaning against the countertop "Whatever the lady says."

Though it was hard to focus, feeling his gaze on you. Your hands trembled a little but you managed to put water, coffee in the pot, then the pot on the stove, waiting for it to be done. And he was looking at you. More than that, he was gauging you. All, from head to toes. You looked away in reflex, ruffling your hair nervously as your brain kept imagining the most embarrassing things. Imagining his hands, arms wrapping around your waist tenderly. Imagining his body pressing against your back. Imagining his face nuzzling your hair, your neck. His warmth, his scent. Him. 

"Here you go."

But in the end, all you did was to make coffee, to hand him a full steaming cup, still shaking with both apprehension and expectation. You sat down in the couch, making yourself comfortable, tensing just a bit when you sensed him sit by your side, wrapping your hands around the hot cup and taking small, careful sips. 

"Jeez" he joked "You made it strong indeed. With that I'll survive the whole night even" he chuckled "Don't worry" he added quickly "It tastes nice."

"Colonel" you stared at the brown liquid "Is everything okay?" drumming your fingers erratically "I mean, out there with that…"

With that threat, that murderer looking for State Alchemists like you. 

Don't go back there, outside. Stay here. 

I'm scared. 

Stay here where it's safe and sound. 

Stay here, with me. 

Roy, don't leave. Don't leave me alone. 

I'm so scared. 

Yes, the most embarrassing things. 

"Don't worry" he passed a gentle hand on your back and you shivered at the contact "It's all fine" going up to play with your locks a bit "Look at me" though you lowered your head even more "Look at me" you obliged "I'm all fine."

He was gorgeous. He was really gorgeous when he was looking at you like that, with his lips curving like that. He was gorgeous, as the fire in his eyes was burning bright. Fiercely, with resolve. Sure, he was fine. For now. He was fine, he was strong and powerful. But that didn't mean you wanted him to leave. And would he still be, all fine, in the capital? 

"I'm all right" he threw an arm around your shoulders and carefully pulled you in an embrace "See? I'm all right."

He kissed the top of your head, nuzzling your hair a bit. His touch was soft. So soft. Slowly, your faces moved closer. Shyly, your foreheads touching first, then your noses gently rubbing against each other. Soft. So soft. And hesitant. So hesitant. 

"Perhaps we shouldn't" he let out in a whisper. 

Yes. Perhaps. You already had a lot to process and kissing him right now would just confuse things more, would just make the decision harder to make. Yes. Perhaps you shouldn't. Except your mouths brushed and finally locked in a kiss. Except he nibbled clumsily on your lower lip. Except his tongue went straight for yours. Except he was less and less shy, as the kiss deepened. Putting down your almost full cups on the small table, hurling you against him the very second your hands were free.

Yes. Perhaps you shouldn't. 

He felt good. He felt so good. And he was holding you close. He was holding you so close. He had taken off his overcoat, to be more comfortable eating, and your fingers clumsily held onto the fabric of his shirt. He tilted his head, as you kissed him back, putting a hand on his neck to bring him a little closer, running your fingers through his soft hair. He felt good, so good. Amazing, even. And yet so desperate. That kiss was different. That kiss was betraying how afraid you were to lose him and how anxious he was you wouldn't choose to follow him in the end. So, yes. 

Perhaps you shouldn't. 

For with the fear of loss came the desire to possess what could just vanish from your grasp. Him. From his grasp. You. Desire. So you clung onto one another. Hurriedly. Clumsily. So, naturally, not really thinking, you lied down onto the couch, with him on top of you. For it felt like the most logical thing to do, to have him here, like that. 

Don't stop, Roy. Don't you ever stop. 

Though he did. Stop. He broke the kiss, pulled back a little and looked at you with obvious embarrassment. 

"We really shouldn't" his voice quivered "I mean, if I leave, you…" 

"Colonel" you let out in a big sigh "I…"

I want you. I just really want you. 

Don't stop. Don't ever stop. 

Don't go. Don't ever go. 

Stupid Colonel. 

You have no right. No right! 

Making feel like this is… 

You're unfair, Colonel. 

"Hey" he stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers "Sorry, I…" rested his forehead against yours "Sorry. Of course, I won't be really leaving. I…" clicked his tongue as his brows narrowed "I'll find a way. I'll come and visit, I'll…" he hissed "I'll find a way. But don't cry" he sounded so sad "Just don't cry, okay?"

Roy. You don't understand anything, do you? 

"I'll come" you let out in a whisper "If you can't stay" playing with the fabric of his shirt nervously "Then I'll" averting your eyes "Follow."

So much for waiting. 

I can't say no. 

You're so unfair, Colonel Mustang. 

"You… You should reconsider. Right now, you're only saying this because we are" he squeezed you as if to straighten his statement "Close. You should give yourself more time."

As if time would make you feel different. As if time would make you forget how all this felt. As if time would make you able to imagine a life where he was no more. Nonsense. 

"Shut up, alright" you clumsily threw your arms around him, bringing his face against your chest "I said I'll come so just" hold me, Roy "Don't say anything."

He buried his face in your top, shifting in a more comfortable position as you ruffled his hair at random. Still wanting him. Still wanting him so bad. 

"Thank you" he still answered, very low.


	23. Where do we go, when our prayers are answered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, may 2021 be better for you

Roy sighed, rubbed his eyes. He was an idiot, he was a complete idiot. How could he let that happen? How could he let things get out of hands like that? Sure, he had planned to tell her the promotion was his doing, it was the very reason why he went to see her. He wanted to tell her, to convince her to follow him. To convince her. He had even prepared a whole speech backed by a strong argumentary. A whole speech he never said. A whole speech he never said because he… Held her. Kissed her. Kissed her so eagerly his once chaste embrace turned into their most heated make out session. And that wasn't supposed to happen. Not when she had such a huge decision to make. He was the worst. Not to mention an idiot. A complete idiot. 

"Why the long face, Roy?" Hughes gave him a friendly elbow kick "I know you're sad I'm leaving soon but you could at least give me a smile."

A complete idiot, to even think he could go for a drink with that goofy character when all he could think about was her. Her. Her body, her hands, her lips. Her holding onto him tightly. Her kissing him so intensely. He shook his head, trying to chase the intrusive thoughts. Perhaps he should have cancelled in the end, he was always careful not giving his friend  _ any _ reason for teasing him. But, also, Hughes was leaving the next day and Roy had to properly say goodbye. He was a gentleman after all. 

"What is it?" his friend threw an arm around his shoulders "Could it be that you're thinking about" and Roy tensed imperceptibly "Hmmm, let me think… some cute little librarian?"

Shit. 

An idiot. Truly. 

"Of course you are" he ruffled his hair playfully "Come on, Roy, tell me. Did the two of you…?" he purred. 

"What?" his eyes widened and he could feel his cheeks blush "No!"

Though she had been so cute, making him lunch, protesting when he did the dishes, offering him coffee. Though she had been truly stunning, lying down onto the couch, under him. Though she had been truly desirable, looking at him like that, kissing him like that, touching him like that. Though it had been close, it had been so close. He had felt it. His desire. Her desire. Except this wasn't how he wanted their first time to be. He passed a hand on his face. He was a gentleman, after all. Or he was supposed to be. But the way she finally agreed to follow him… Maybe not that much of a gentleman in the end. 

Dammit. 

She was just a civilian librarian. And he grew up around women. Him. Roy Mustang. What was her trick? Why was she making him feel insecure and vulnerable, always? 

"What is it, Roy?" Hughes's voice had become serious all of a sudden "You seem gloomy."

"I'm fine" he lied, sipping on his drink "That's my usual face."

She said she'd follow him. They kissed. She was more and more confident around him. She wasn't enough to call him by his name still but there was fondness in the way his rank was rolling off her tongue and he had gotten used to it. She said she'd follow him. They kissed. She wanted him, obviously. It was all fine. All fine. 

"Liar" his friend made the brown liquid swirl into his glass "What's going on?"

Right. He didn't end up working in the Intelligence Department for no reason. He had always been terribly sharp, no matter how much of a poker face Roy could have been wearing. Lying would just delay the inevitable. So he took a deep sigh, stared at his empty glass and folded his hands before his face.

"I asked her to come with me" he simply stated "To Central."

"I see" Hughes sighed, pushing his glass before him and patting Roy's shoulder in comfort "Just give her a little time, okay? It's a big change and…"

"She said she'd come" he lowered his head, lowered his voice "She said she'd follow me."

"Ah, I see" both his friend's voice and touch had become soothing "Roy" terribly soothing "You have nothing to feel guilty of."

How could he do it, Hughes? How could he just be with his wife, have a child with her even, after… doing what they did? How could he do it without just feeling… out of place? Without feeling like he just didn't deserve her? How could he? 

"Roy, you have every right, you know" he waved at the bartender and pointed at their empty glasses "To be happy" he smiled, tilted his head and cleaned his spectacles.

What was he saying now? Uttering stupid nonsense about how even monsters like them deserved happiness? Happiness, him? He scoffed. Happiness, with her? With her who couldn't even call him by his name (even though there was endearment in the way she was saying his rank)? With her who once said she hated him (even if her every gesture was making him think otherwise)? Happiness, uh? Nonsense. 

"Whatever" he brought the now full drink to his mouth, hoping alcohol would help him forget how embarrassing his friend could get. 

"Roy, please" he patronized "You love her, don't you?"

Shit. He swallowed the strong liquor hard, blinking. A less trained person would have probably choked on the liquid but, fortunately, Roy had been stuck in tricky situations before and had become really good at not showing emotions. In any circumstances. 

"You're not funny, Hughes" his brows narrowed as he closed his eyes, ready to blame the heat rushing to his cheeks on the excessive amount of alcohol he just had. 

"I'm serious, Roy" he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose "You love her."

Wrong. She might be cute but she was also afraid of him, all the time. She was also afraid the man she took a liking in would turn out to be exactly the monster he was said to be. He wasn't blind. He could see. How she was looking at him sometimes. Her eyes yelling this title he hated so much. Silently calling him the Hero of Ishval.

"Don't be stupid" he sounded really angry. 

"It's okay to be afraid, Roy."

"I am not…!"

"Hatred, we know of" Hughes took his glass dreamily "We face it everyday" stared at the liquid "But love… Love can be terrifying."

No, it wasn't. Love. It was too early. It was way too early. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of losing him. She was afraid, all the time. He had to work harder than that. He had to be better than that. So she wouldn't be afraid. Not anymore. So he wouldn't be… 

"Roy" Hughes patted his shoulder once again "It's okay. You have every right to love her" very soothingly "And to be loved by her."

Love, uh? 

Ridiculous.

It was too early, way too early. 

Except his heart was beating fast, so fast, and he knew he couldn't blame the liquor on that one. 


	24. Somewhere I belong

Things had been weird. Things had been weird after that. After he had left on that day. That day you could only remember with a smile. Him drying the dishes, him leaning on the countertop, him on top of you. Kissing you, holding you. Asking you to come with him. Over and over again. His head resting on your chest and how peacefully he napped for a little while, after you agreed to follow him to Central. Remembering, with a smile. Even though you had tried to convince yourself. You had tried to convince yourself. That this urge to touch was mostly motivated by fear. Fear of losing him. Just fear, potentialized by desire. A fool, you were. A complete fool. It was harder and harder to believe those lies you were feeding yourself. 

You liked him.

You liked him a lot. 

And that was a problem. Being attracted to a soldier was one thing. Nutrishing feelings for the Hero of Ishval was another. And somehow your brain couldn't stop reminding you. Of the horrendous things he had to do to be reminded with such a prestigious title. 

Though he was careful and considerate to the point of not allowing himself to embrace you too intimately. He didn't even touch your bare skin. Not even once. Even if both your bodies had been screaming for contact, he never dared. Not even a slight touch. And so he had left. And you hadn't seen him since. He had called a few times, first at the library, then at your place, after you gave him your number to avoid any inquisitive look. But it had been just it. A few calls. It wasn't enough. But you had told him you'd wait. You'd wait and then you'd follow. So you had filled the form. You had asked for a reassignment in Central. To everyone’s greatest surprise. 

After all, it might just be your type to abandon everything just to follow a man on a whim. 

It had been days. It had been weeks. It had been almost a month. His moving up should be official by now: he did say his hands would be full after that. It had been days. It had been weeks. It had been almost a month. You were waiting for the decision concerning your reassignment. For the section yet to be assigned part.

“It's for you” a colleague handed you the phone “The Colonel Mustang.”

You arched a brow. The Colonel? Calling you at work? Weird. You couldn't openly talk and he knew as much. Perhaps it was an emergency. Which wasn't exactly reassuring. Though, whatever emergency it was, he was okay enough to call you himself. Which was a consolation of some sorts. 

“Yes, Colonel?” you tried to keep it firm but your voice quivered. 

“Congratulations on your new assignment" he said though he didn't sound happy at all “You got yourself a nice job at Central Library.”

“Colonel” you squeezed the receiver and swirled the wire around your finger, something was wrong “What’s…”

“The final decision arrived on my desk this morning” he sighed, he wasn’t quite like his usual self “At what time does your shift end today?”

“Six” you tensed some more.

“Wait for me” you heard the characteristic sound of ruffled paper as he noted down something “Wait for me, I'll pick you up.”

But those were good news, right? So why wasn’t he sounding like they were? 

“I can wait, Colonel” you simply answered.

You wanted to ask him if he was okay too. But you were at work and so was he. With his subordinates around, he’d obviously say he was. No way he’d show any sign of weakness. You put an unsteady hand on your chest. Something was wrong. Wasn’t he moving up in the end? Were you going there… alone? No. Fate couldn’t play such a dirty trick on you. 

“Great, see you later.”

“See you la…” 

You looked at the receiver with confused eyes. He hung up on you. He hung up before you could even say a proper goodbye. He hung up on you. What was happening? Your whole body was trembling when you put down the receiver, when you tried to fill in the forms, to put back books on their shelves, archived files in their boxes. Your last hour of work was dreadful. It was hard to breathe even. He wasn’t moving to Central in the end, was he? His promotion failed somehow and he was staying here. And yours had been accepted, so you had to go. You could see no other reason. No other reason for his attitude. 

No, no way.

You couldn’t go to Central if he wasn’t.

And your bad feeling intensified when his car stopped in front of you, your fingers were still shaking when you opened the door and got in in complete silence.

“Here” he handed you a sheet as he started to drive again, not greeting you, not a nice word either “Your new assignment.”

“Colonel” you took it shyly “What’s wrong?” 

He didn’t answer. His driving was somehow reckless, too fast, hectic. He never drove like that. An unpleasant thrill went down your spine. You had to ask. 

“Has your promotion been refused in the end? Are you staying in East City?”

“What? No” he took a turn left and you had to actually grip on the door handle “I was in Central a few days back, everything’s fine. I’ll be deployed there in the following weeks” he turned his face to look at you “I’ll be there before you, don’t worry about that. I asked you to follow me after all, I won’t let you do…”

“Colonel, watch out!” you yelled as you stirred violently on the wheel in his stand to avoid a car coming your way “Are you trying to kill us both or what?”

You shouldn’t have said that. You definitely shouldn’t. He briskly turned right, in the first narrow alley he found, hit the brakes hard to park his car here. You could hear his labored breathing, your heart was beating so fast. What was happening? Why was he so reckless? The knot in your stomach tightened and you were starting to feel really sick. If he was going to Central in the end, then what was wrong? 

“Okay, Colonel” you passed trembling fingers on your face “What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He just rubbed his closed eyelids as he hissed. His hand that was still on the wheel was white around the knuckles. He was afraid. And angry. And maybe sad too. There was something going on and it was so dreadful he couldn’t even voice it. Oh no. Your eyes widened in realization and astonishment. Did they… ask him to be a human weapon again? Did he… kill? 

“I’m sorry” he finally said “I…” 

Though he didn’t finish his sentence and grabbed you violently by the collar. You let go of the paper you were holding, completely taken aback, when he swiftly pulled you closer to hurriedly catch your lips his. 

Kissing you. 

Desperately. 


	25. I’ve poured out my everything

There was something wrong. Something wrong in the way he had been talking to you. Something wrong in the way he had been holding you. Something wrong in the way he was kissing you. He was careful, always so careful about not touching you more than he should. Kissing you so eagerly, without warning, without asking was very unlike him. And yet. Yet his arms were thrown around you. Yet his tongue slipped between your lips and took clumsy, messy turns at yours. And you could smell. Ash, fire, the Colonel. And you could feel. The rough fabric of his uniform, his warmth, the trembling of his hands as he took fistfuls of your coat. He was afraid. No, he was terrified.

"I…" he broke the kiss, hurled you against him even more "You…"

"I'm here" you whispered, travelling your hand on his chest a bit "I'm right here."

He said nothing, gripped harder on you and you didn't think that was possible. He tensed, wrung the fabric of your clothing in his clenched fists. No, he wasn't terrified. He was overwhelmed. With fear. With pain. As if he was about to confess something dreadful. Something so dreadful he could lose you because of it. Something so dreadful he had to kiss you not to lose you because of it. 

"Colonel" your hands went down, on his waist "It's okay."

And the lips that kissed your temple were trembling. Yes, very unlike him. You pulled back a little, glanced at him. He looked sad. Terribly sad. As if he was about to cry. Nonsense. He was the Hero of Ishval, he was unshakable… wasn't he? No. He looked so painfully human. He was so desperately human. And the lips that kissed your lips, again, were trembling. And guilt added to sadness and pain in his beautiful dark eyes. 

“I actually didn't mean to do that” he hissed, frowned “I'm sorry" he sighed “I really shouldn't have… done that to you.”

Why was he talking like he had done a bad thing? He knew you wanted him like that, you had kissed before, made out even. No. There was something else. Something that made him look so out of himself.

“This is not how I want us to be” he stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers, tenderly "I want to do it right" what was he talking about? “So much for a gentleman…”

He looked lost. So lost it hurt. There was more to that embrace, more to that kiss. Come on, he didn't have to look at you like that. Like you were both utterly precious and terribly fragile. 

"It's okay" you plunged your eyes into his "You're already doing it right."

Roy. 

This is exactly how I want you. 

Roy. 

"Liar" though he brought you close to him once more "I know you're still afraid of me" and that embrace really was desperate "I can wait until you're not. I can wait" and he definitely sounded like he was trying to convince himself. 

"I…"

"No, you don't" he patronized "You don't. Not like that, not with me."

But he was holding you so close. And your arms wrapped tenderly around his waist. 

Idiot! You, stupid idiot! 

I'm abandoning everything just to follow you to Central, of course I want to be with you. 

“I'm worried” you confessed “You feel… on edge. I don't know what's happening, Colonel, but I'm worried. Not because of… all this, obviously not, but because you're not your usual self. You seem… gloom, like something bad happened” he tensed suddenly “I understand you can't talk to me, I'm a civilian” he clicked his tongue “But I am…”

Relieved you came to me in those times of need. 

Of course you can kiss me. 

Roy. 

"It's work" he mumbled "Nothing for you to worry about."

Except his hands gripped on you very tightly once again. As if you could just disappear into thin air. No. It wasn't just work. He was hurting. He was a human weapon, after all. He probably had to do dreadful things. Dreadful things that weren't matching the kind of person he wanted to be. Dreadful things that weren't matching the man he wanted you to see. 

"Colonel…"

"I said it's nothing!" he almost spat "Work!"

"Colonel" you violently pulled back, plunged your eyes into his "You look so sad" he averted his gaze and scoffed "Devastated. I-I understand you can't… tell me specifics but you don't have to…" you blinked, your eyes were stinging "You can let go."

Don't look at me like that, you idiot. 

Kiss me. 

"Roy, please" you added in a strangled voice as tears flooded your cheeks. 

“Really” he smiled softly, took out his handkerchief “Don't say my name for the first time wearing such a pitiful face" dried your tears in a tender gesture "You know I don't like rain."

You wanted to protest. To call his name once again and to hell with your pitiful face. You didn't have such luxury. He didn't let you. His mouth caught yours again. Shyly. Hesitantly. Cupping your face with both his hands. You shivered, tensed a bit when he nibbled on your lower lip. Asking for permission, he truly was considerate. He was solemn, somehow, rubbing his tongue carefully alongside yours as if he was afraid you'd stop him anytime. You didn't, enjoying the jolt of electricity that came with the kiss. He was sweet, so sweet. And shy, so shy. 

“I'm sorry” he whispered and his voice no longer was stern “I said this wasn't how I wanted us to be and in the end I just… You don't deserve…”

“Shut up, stupid” you hugged him, passionately.

“Calling a colonel names” he chuckled though his voice quivered and almost died out “You’ve really got some nerves.” 

“I can come up with more, if that’s your kink, stupid idiotic good for nothing when it rains Colonel Mustang.”

“Stop” he let out a little laugh “Or I’ll have to court-martial you” he relaxed a bit, kissed you on the top of the head “That’d be such a shame.”

“You can let go, Colonel” your hand went up to pet the little hair on his nape “You don't have to pretend you're unshakable in moments like those. Not with me” tears escaped your eyes again “You don't have to keep those things to yourself either.”

He shifted so he was the one resting his face in the crook of your neck. At some point, his whole body went rigid and he clenched his fists so hard you thought he was about to cry as well. Except he didn't. He just sighed deeply and his hot breath against your skin sent a thrill down your spine.

“Can you…” and his voice was so weak, and he sounded nothing like the fierce Flame Colonel anymore “Hold me like this for a little while? I promise I won't…"

“Whatever you need to let go, Colonel” you kissed his head, his hair smelt like ash as well.

“So… call me by my name” your heart skipped a beat “Please.”

“Sure thing… Roy.”


	26. I’ve studied how to properly love

You didn't know how long you stayed like that. Quite a long time. Your back was numb, your shoulders stiff, your arms sore. That car seat wasn't the most comfortable place. But here he was, resting his head against your chest. But here you were, holding him gently but firmly. Rubbing his back, petting his hair. You thought he'd cry somehow, the air was so heavy. He never did. He just held onto you real hard. 

“Stay” he suddenly said out of the blue. 

As if you could not, when he was hugging you like that. His embrace was possessive. You weren't exactly sure if he was just preventing you from running away or if he was claiming you for his own. That last thought was terribly frightening. 

“Sure” you ran your fingers through his short black hair “I’m not going anywhere, Colonel” you tightened your grip as if to prove him so “I’ve got you.”

“Roy” he corrected as he moved away from you, stretched a little “My name’s Roy.”

Except, somehow, when you weren’t carried away by your overwhelming emotions, you couldn’t say it and went back calling him by his rank. Not even his family name. His rank. He knew you hated the military, that was truly cruel of you. But he was still a soldier, despite everything else you might feel. He was still the embodiment of everything you hated. Violence, war, authoritarianism. He would forever be. 

“Anyway” he scoffed as he massaged his strained shoulder “I should drive you home” he pulled out a silver pocket watch and glanced at the hour “I’ve wasted too much of your time already.” 

Though he didn’t start the engine. He just took a deep sigh. He had something else to say, perhaps something else to ask even. It was all so awkward. That strange hug, the burden he was carrying and told you nothing about, that shy kiss. It was all so awkward. You said nothing to give him time, picked up your crumpled new assignment from the floor. You passed an unsteady hand on the sheet as if to uncrease it. New assignment. National Central Library, Third Branch, Weapons and Tactics Archives. Definitely not a librarian job. Well, you shouldn't be surprised. A colonel of the State Military asked for your reassignment, of course your new job would look like that. You were so close to getting in bed with an officer, you shouldn't be disappointed.

And yet.

“Sorry about your assignment” he sighed “I should have warned you. Hughes kept complaining about how much the archives are in disarray” he smiled sadly “The secretary's job is still vacant, you know” he teased “If you still wish to escape those dusty files… to work on my non-dusty files.”

“You won’t see me in that skirt, Colonel” you feigned annoyance “No need to insist.”

The joke was still good, his smile had widened a bit. Still looked sad though. 

“Too bad” he smirked “I bet blue is your color” he let out a little moan as he stretched again “Anyway…” he stared at the wheel again, for some reason he didn’t want to leave that narrow alley.

“Colonel” you glanced at him “Do you need me to drive? You look really tired.”

“No, I’m good” he rubbed his forehead “And my place is too far away from yours by foot” he frowned “I didn’t know you could drive.”

“I do, I'm an independent woman” you neatly put the crumpled file in your lap “And I don’t mind driving, really.”

“I’m fine” he hissed “What I wanted to ask was… Are you willing to stay with me, tonight?”

What a peculiar choice of words, very careful, too careful. 

“You mean, like in…” you paused, a bit “Spending the night?”

“Yeah” he opened and closed his hands on the wheel a few times, he wasn’t daring to look at you “I don't mean like in… sex, more like in… staying. For the night. I've a couch but you… I mean, I…” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose “I can’t sleep. Alone in my house” he scoffed “So much for a grand hero, uh?”

But he wasn't. A hero. Or an officer. Or a State Alchemist. Or a human weapon. He was just human. Just a man undergoing a lot of pressure. Just a human being needing another human being to be able to fight and to carry the burden of pain. He was no hero. Not even a colonel. He was Roy. Just Roy.

“I told you I wasn't going anywhere, Colonel. Roy” you corrected “I told you I've got you. So, yes” you smiled at him, gently “I'll spend the night” you could feel your cheeks blush “If this is where you need me to be.”

Was it okay, though? To get literally in bed with the military, once more? But the way he was looking at you wasn’t much of a soldier’s. 

“My place’s closer” he started the engine “Unless you mind.”

“Of course not” your smile grew wider “You've been to mine several times already, it's only fair I finally get to see yours.”

“Right” he giggled “It's mostly packed boxes so I'm sure you'll find it pretty disappointing.”

And so you were out of that alley. The ride was made in complete silence and the atmosphere all too awkward but at least his driving was no longer too fast and reckless. He was right, somehow. The rooms were cleared, looked nothing but too wide and too empty. It was indeed mostly packed boxes and it was quite disappointing. Except for the few photographs he was probably waiting for the very last moment to remove. 

A lot of those blue uniforms. Soldiers. The Academy. Some pictures of him in civilian clothes with a bunch of girls. In a bar. On a few, his smile looked so bright and pure. On too many, the flame in his eyes had turned dull and sad. So this was where Ishval drew the line, uh?

“You've met Hughes already” he calmly said as he pointed out the brown man with glasses, the goofy smile and the fierce eyes “This was at the Academy, where we met, back we were young and stupid” his finger moved to several photographs “That's his wedding with Gracia, he asked me to be his best man.”

“Where are the pictures of you dressed as his best man, then?” you teased.

“I don't know” he shrugged “They might have tragically disappeared in a fire” he became serious again “That's their daughter, Elicia" he stared at the floor "Though I assume he already told you about her. A lot."

His voice sounded strange. Broken. Sad. Hughes had told you the Colonel had this gloomy disposition. No wonder his friend was always shamelessly easygoing, devoted as he was. On all those pictures, his smile was always as bright and pure as ever. As if Ishval never drew a line for him.

“And this one?” you asked, pointing the one hidden in a corner, under some others.

“Us” he simply said as he took a step back “In Ishval.”


	27. Just some tragic victim

Ishval. Them. In Ishval. Though you couldn't really understand why something this painful was hidden amongst those cheerful memories. It was probably holding more meaning than just being a token of war. But still.

“Show me” you whispered with a shaking voice.

“No” he slid the photograph hidden under the others a little more “It's a reminder of a promise we once made. I really look… We really look like… Nothing for you to see…” he pointed out another photograph to deflect the conversation “Those are my men. You've heard of them already. There are Lieutenant Hawkeye, Second Lieutenant Breda, Second Lieutenant Havoc, Warrant Officer Falman and Master Sergeant Fuery” of course, names and ranks, in decreasing order “That little one here is the Lieutenant’s dog, Black Hayate.”

“Black Hayate?” you arched a brow “Apologies but your Lieutenant has terrible taste in names” you giggled.

“Don't make fun of my men” he chastised “Or I will definitely court-martial you and sentence you to wear that blue skirt you like so much.”

“Scary” you raised your hands in reddition “Apologies, Colonel, sir” you asked more seriously “Who are this woman and… all those girls?”

“Why do you want to know? You're jealous?” good, he was acting self-confident again, you liked that better “That's Madam Christmas and her girls” he added before you could answer his teasing “They're like family.”

He wasn't lying. The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes showed how fierce and proud he was to have them in his life. He rubbed his forehead again, frowning. He also looked exhausted. 

“I'm going to change” he explained as he opened the front of his overcoat swiftly “And try to find you something you can actually sleep in” he gauged you from head to toes “I'll be right back, make yourself comfortable.”

You nodded but, instead, you went through his kitchen looking for something to cook. His fridge was desperately empty and so were the cupboards. He was probably taking most of (if not all) his meals at Headquarters’ but you managed to find a half-empty box of pasta and some tomato sauce. Probably his last emergency food supplies. And, when you dressed the table, you couldn't stop thinking about that picture he didn't want you to see. It was unlikely they took a photograph when the war was raging, so what was he so afraid of?

“Comfortable for you is to cook dinner?” he patronized as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Pasta isn't cooking” you arched a brow “Honestly it's a miracle I even found something edible here” you sighed dramatically “You can't work on an empty stomach, Colonel. Roy.”

It was strange. To see him wear sweatpants and a loose top. To have him eat his food looking so tired he could pass out any second. To insist so he would go to sleep instead of doing the dishes. To share the chores in the end, you washing, him drying. It was strange. Domestic. Nice, almost. Awkward, still. Sad, too. And he never told you the reason why. Not even gave you a hint. 

“I can offer you a shirt” he rubbed her chin “Or one of my uniform undergowns but…”

Never did you see a room in such perfect order. Even the bed was made without a crease. The clothes in the wardrobe neatly folded, neatly hanging. You weren't daring to touch anything. 

“It's alright” you held out a hand “Whatever you don't need.”

“This one should…” he gauged you from head to waist again “Cover most of it” white shirt, a classic “The bathroom is at the end of the hallway” he pointed to the right “And could you take that with you? I forgot” he glanced at you, his brows were frowned “Or is it too much to ask?”

His uniform. The one he wore today. Also neatly folded at the end of the bed. A thrill went down your spine. Ah, come on. You had touched it, grabbed it even, already. You knew how the fabric felt. And yet your fingers were shaking when you seized it.

“It's not” you said before he could protest “It sure is a lot” you confessed “But not too much.” 

It was his daily life, you should get used to this soon. Touching his uniforms. You smiled and grabbed the shirt he had picked for you. So, the bathroom. On the right. End of the hallway. That room too was in perfect order. Not even a single hair in the tub or sink. You found the laundry basket easily, put the uniform in it. And stared. Stared at that blue. You threw the shirt on the sink, kneeled down, took the overcoat in your hands again, unfolded it. 

Roy.

I want to understand.

What you feel when you wear that.

You ran your hands over the fabric, your fingers alongside the epaulets, the three stars, the yellow lanyard, the decoration badges. Token of his wars. Of his victims. You shivered, brought the clothing to your face. It smelt like him, it smelt like ash. Like fire and Roy. 

I want to understand.

Why you didn't resign after that dreadful civil war. Why you keep climbing the ladder.

Why a good man such as you remains a soldier. Even when it's this heavy on you. 

You buried your face deeper in the fabric, as if the answer was hidden somewhere in those threads. But there was only his scent. And the one of ashes. Fire. And Roy.

“Is everything okay?” he knocked shyly on the door “You’re taking a bit long.”

“Ah, sorry” you folded the overcoat back, not as neatly as he did, got up on shaking legs “I spaced out a little, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You started to undress, with trembling fingers. Your top fell on the floor with a soft sound. Your legs got out of your pants. Your bra unclasped. You stared at your reflection in the mirror as you put on his shirt, buttoning it up. It was the strangest of sensation. It was obviously oversized but it was barely covering anything. You could still distinguish the shape of your breasts, your waist, your hips. You suddenly felt very self-conscious. Exposed somehow. 

Wearing his shirt. A shirt not even smelling like him, just of clean laundry.

Your heart was beating so fast. You picked up your clothes from the floor, gathered them messily against your chest, made your way back to the bedroom. Before you could say anything, he unloaded the clothes off your arms and put them on a hanger. Neatly. 

“It's late” he just stated “I'll take the couch.”

"What?" you shook your head "No, don't be silly."

You shyly opened the sheets of this too neat bed, got in. You tensed a bit when you felt it get heavier. You expected him to seek physical contact. To put a hand on you. To wrap an arm around you. He didn't. He just kissed you on the forehead. A quick peck.

“Goodnight” he whispered.

“Go-Goodnight.”

And your heart was beating so fast.


	28. The more you know, the more they hold you back

You couldn't sleep. It was all too weird. Being in his bed. In the very bed he was spending all his nights. He had put on clean sheets though, they too smelt only of clean laundry. Still. It was weird. To rest your head where he was usually resting his head. To lie down where he was usually lying down. It was all too weird. To picture him sleeping next to you, not making a move to get closer. And that casual peck, on your forehead… Your heart was beating so fast. As if you could sleep in a situation like this. 

Stupid, stupid colonel! 

How was any of this helping him? 

You must have fallen asleep though because you swiftly opened your eyes when you felt the bed suddenly become heavier behind you. You tensed, taking you a few seconds for your waking up brain to connect the dots. 

“Sorry.”

That voice… The Colonel. You were at the Colonel’s house, in the Colonel’s bed. He said he couldn't sleep alone. Something was wrong. He had snuck up against your back. He was lying there. Right against you. 

“Sorry” he whispered and his voice was so close you shivered “I didn't mean to wake you.”

"It's okay" you turned around to face him, not much use when the room was pitch black. 

“I can’t sleep" he sighed, shifted a bit "Can we… stay like this a little while? I won't touch you or try anything" he added quickly "I just…"

"Yes, silly" your lips curved into a smile he couldn't see "Come closer."

A few seconds passed, probably because he was gauging the options. Then the bed got even heavier and his hand bumped against your shoulder. He shifted once again so his face was resting in the crook of your neck, so his arms wrapped gently around your waist and you shivered. The shirt wasn't definitely covering enough and he could feel the shape of your body through the clothing. 

"I'm sorry" he said again, withdrawing his hands a little "I…"

"It's okay" you rubbed his shoulders softly "This is" whatever that was, if you were to be honest "This is new, I'm just not used to being touched by…"

"A soldier" he groaned, rested his head against your chest "I get it."

"By you" you corrected. 

He didn't say anything, you played with the hair on his neck, on his forehead. He was all tense and sweaty, trembling, his fingers twitching from time to time and, even if he was putting a lot of effort into not showing it, his breathing was labored. He was afraid. Panicked. 

"What is it?" you tried. 

"Nothing" he just muttered "Work."

Well, you knew you would have to insist, didn't you? 

"Tell me" you tried again "What's wrong?"

“Sorry” he whispered again and you understood he wouldn't talk.

He nuzzled your neck, clumsily. He needed you. He needed to feel your warmth, your presence. And yet he couldn't afford himself to properly hug you. To give in to that embrace completely. To wrap his arms around you and squeeze. He was probably thinking it was too early. And maybe it was. If he still couldn't talk. Or hold you close without thinking he was imposing himself.

“Colonel” you mumbled, travelling down your hand to shyly stroke his cheek. 

“Don't call me that” he tensed and moved his face away from your touch “Don't call me that anymore.”

It took you a little while to realize what was happening. Why his whole body went rigid, why both his hands wrung the fabric of the shirt you were wearing so hard you were afraid it might come apart, why he was making confused sounds, why his breathing was so erratic. He was crying.

Him. 

The Colonel Roy Mustang.

Crying.

You didn't expect it. He had worked so hard not to show any weakness. And now, at complete odds with his stern facade, he was clinging onto you as if his life depended on it.

“I can’t sleep” he said again as if to justify himself “I am sorry.”

“It's okay” you made another attempt to touch his face, he shivered but let you this time “You can cry" you kissed the top of his head "But tell me what's going on."

You could hear anything. He was the Hero of Ishval, he already had killed, he had already been made a fully-fledged human weapon. What worse could he confess? 

“Hughes’s dead” your eyes widened suddenly and you took a fistful of his hair in realization "He was murdered” stop, Colonel “This is all I can tell you.”

You froze. You froze and your grip in his hair tightened a bit. No. Not that. He could confess everything. Everything but that. Please. That Hughes guy meant so much to him, he couldn't die on him. Not him. Not his best friend. And murdered? By whom? That serial killer? 

“Wh-What?” you stuttered in obvious shock “But he is… was…”

“Also” he cut you “He was promoted to Brigadier General and the military offered him a beautiful ceremony.”

Ah. He was hurting so bad he had to act like an officer to coldly put the painful facts at a safe distance. Hughes was an important part of his life. He had quite some anecdotes to share about him, going back to the Academy even. He was hurting that bad he basically acted like a strong and stern soldier, showing no feelings to show no weaknesses. Except with you. 

With you he showed so much feelings. So much feelings he cried. So much feelings he shifted briskly and his lips blindly kissed your chin, your cheek, your nose before finally finding your lips. 

So much feelings, indeed. 

Though his mouth was shy and careful, traveling alongside yours before finally daring to go in with his tongue. Though he was kissing you, again. With utmost despair. You had seen Hughes yourself, you could imagine how precious the man he had lost was. To be honest, you barely knew him and yet you were feeling a little sad. So the Colonel… Of course, the Colonel would be deeply hurt and sad. Of course he would kiss you like that. As if he could lose you. As if to beg you not to abandon him. 

Oh, Roy. How much are you hurting? Aren't you the one afraid?

His body pressed a little against yours. His hands squeezed your hips, wrapped around your waist and he swiftly brought you closer in a firm movement. So it was happening, wasn't it? He was mourning, he was in pain, that was the most logical conclusion. You knew it would end with you sleeping with him, somehow, when he offered to spend the night. 

Him.

A mourning gentle man.

Him.

An officer of the State Military.

“No” he whispered suddenly “Not like that. Not our first."

That was cute, somehow. Despite the pain. 

“Colonel…"

“Roy” he buried his face against your chest again and his voice broke, almost “My name is Roy.”

And this one sounded like a plea.


	29. It's always dark just right before the dawn

The night was long. The night was very long. He said he couldn't sleep but, in fact, he could. He could sleep pretty well and that was the problem. He was plagued with nightmares. He was often waking up, in a startle, drenched in sweat, his hands not bothering where they were grabbing you as long as they were holding you. 

The night was long. 

You never had to take care of someone having nightmares before and you didn't know what to do. So you squeezed his arms, whispered words of comfort, let him lace his legs with yours. Kissed the top of his head, kissed his forehead, kissed his temples, nose, cheeks, lips. Him. For you just didn't know what else to do. 

The night was long. 

Long and too short.

When you heard his alarm ring, you couldn't tell if the moan escaped his lips or yours. You were too tired. He might have thought you were still asleep for he carefully moved away from you, pulled the sheets back up after he left your side. Passed a gentle hand in your hair. Kissed your cheek tenderly. Sweet. So sweet. 

“Mmm” you held out a lazy hand “I'm awake.”

“Sleep” he ordered as he playfully tapped your nose “It's too early.”

Too early. How early? Your mind was so foggy, you couldn't even keep your eyes open. And the last thing you felt were his fingers tilting your face up, his trembling lips shyly kissing yours, his tongue gently going for yours, a bit hurried, a bit hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure if he was allowed to do so. A goodbye kiss. The sweetest, really. And the last thing you perceived was one syllable escaping you. 

"Roy…"

You startled when you heard the alarm again. You whined, stretched out a lazy arm to turn it off. 7am. You probably forgot to tell him you were working the afternoon shift today. He set up the alarm so you wouldn't be late, he was considerate like that. You lied back down in a sigh, rubbing your face. Your mind was foggy, even with that extra sleep. And it was still lingering.The sensation of his body entwined with your own. Him against you. His hands gripping on the fabric of the shirt. His head, on your chest. His legs, laced with yours. His fingers in your hair, tapping your nose, tilting your chin. His lips on yours. Shy and hesitant. 

It was still lingering. 

The ghost of Roy's touch. 

You groaned as you rolled onto your belly, ran your hands erratically in the bed, finding his pillow, tugging on it so you could bury your face in his scent, holding onto the fabric hard, so hard. Why did he leave this early? Why couldn't he stay? He barely slept, so why did he…? You bit on your lower lip, as silent tears streamed down your cheeks. He was in pain, he was in so much pain. And he needed you. He terribly needed you. So why couldn't he stay, just for a few more hours? What was the emergency? 

Roy. Roy, I'm scared. 

He had looked so weak and vulnerable, he shouldn't be working, not when he was in mourning, not when he barely slept. Not when that serial killer was still on the loose. He was more likely to make mistakes. He was more likely to… Your brain kept playing those thoughts on loop and you were hugging the pillow closer and closer to your face. And it hurt. It hurt so much. And your whole body jumped once again when you heard the phone ring by the bed. The phone. Roy. 

"Y-Yes?" you asked with a shaking voice. 

"Good morning, this is your favorite colonel calling" he purred "How is the prettiest librarian doing today?"

He was as charming as ever, that stupid gorgeous idiot. 

"Colonel" you sighed though your lips curved into a small smile "You're way too joyful so early in the morning" you rubbed your forehead. 

"What can I say? Paperwork always makes me ecstatic" he joked "Are you okay?" and to say you could even hear him frown. 

"Tired" you confessed in a whisper "I'm still in bed."

"Stay as much as you need" he ruffled a few sheets "Grumman told me he got my reassignment, I start in Central next week" next week? But that was… "Don't worry, I'll call you."

But that was so soon. It'd take you a little while to go there yourself. How would he sleep, alone, in a whole different town? 

"Take me with you" what were you saying, even? 

"What?" he giggled "As much as I appreciate, shouldn't you worry about packing your own boxes first?"

"Take me with you" you repeated "So you won't have to sleep alone in your own house."

What were you saying, indeed? 

"Careful, Lady Librarian, making offers like those" he chuckled "I might take you seriously."

But you were serious. Terribly serious. Your stuff could wait, you could find a way to have it sent, you could… 

"Don't worry" his voice had become stern "Like I said, I'll call you. Everyday. I…" he let out a deep sigh "I'm sorry but I have to go or my scary aide will scold me once again."

"Colonel" don't hang up "Roy, I…"

"Stay as much as you need" he repeated "There is a spare key in the entrance, put it in the mailbox when you go."

"Roy" don't hang up, stay with me "I… You…" don't go, please don't go "I am…" I love you. 

What? 

"What is it?" he sounded concerned "Are you okay?"

It was obvious. So obvious. So ridiculously obvious. Why you agreed to follow him to Central. Why you were no longer scared of him but just scared of losing him, all the time. Why you could no longer bear to have him away from you, even for a few days. You were in love with him. The Colonel Roy Mustang. 

"I'm scared" you confessed, with tears in your voice "You'll be far and I…" love you, Roy. 

"Don't cry" and now sad "It's a good promotion, and you'll join me soon after. And I'll be careful" he scoffed "Believe me, transfert comes with such paperwork I don't think I'll even leave my desk" his voice almost died out "Please don't cry, okay?"

As if you couldn't. Cry. You loved him. That wasn't supposed to happen. You had known who he was from the very beginning. He wasn't supposed to be gentle, kind, attractive. He wasn't supposed to be a good man. He wasn't supposed to be the kind of man you'd fall for. And yet here you were now. In love. 

"You take care, okay?" he added in a whisper "I'm sorry but I really have to go now."

"Sure" you dried your tears quickly "Take care as well."

"See you, Lady Librarian."

See you, Roy.

The sooner the better. 


	30. If the sun refuses to shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on vacations so expect some disrupted posting next week

"Colonel, I advise you stay focused" Hawkeye chastised as she dropped another stack of paper on his desk. 

He said nothing, just let out a big sigh. Paperwork, always. He grabbed a few sheets, scanned the words quickly. Perfect, those were even coming in triplicates. He sighed again, folded his hand against his cheek. That would be good if he could actually focus. But he was running on too little sleep for that. He had expected the indecent amount of work, this was Central after all. He had expected the exhaustion, Hughes's murder wouldn't solve itself. He had even expected the worry, he didn't like that she was in another city and the only way he could check on her was the phone. He had expected the worry. Just not this much worry. And, in his nightmares, not only he was losing his friend but he was too late to save her as well. 

Pathetic. 

Her. He couldn't help thinking about her, all the time. He couldn't help thinking about how strange their last moment together was. About how beautiful she was, in his shirt, in his sheets, with her lazy head rolling on his pillow in the morning. About how she bore with his panic, all night, holding him tenderly, petting his hair, whispering words she was hoping to be comforting enough. About her. Just her. And the memory of the shape of her body in his arms, of her lips against his, of their kisses. He couldn't help thinking about her. With tenderness. And utter fear. Fear of losing her, yes. But there was more. And he couldn't exactly tell what. 

"Sir?" ah, shit, the Lieutenant! 

"Sorry, I spaced out" he rubbed his closed eyelids, stretched a little "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Is everything alright?" 

Those fierce severe brown eyes and frowned face. Great, he got her worried too. Yes, he was fine. Just really afraid. And he couldn't exactly tell why. 

"I see" she sighed as well, pushed the phone in his direction "Ten minutes, not one second more."

Good they had this silent understanding, that would save him the embarrassment of trying to explain himself. He thought he would have to refrain from picking the receiver in a hurry but his hand was, in fact, shaking and he almost dropped it. Come on, what was he so afraid of? She was showing obvious desire to be around him, for him even, so why? It was absurd, so absurd. Still, his fingers trembled when he dialed her number. And he caught himself somehow hoping she wouldn't pick up. And he couldn't exactly tell why. 

"Yes?" her voice was stern, a little annoyed, he had disturbed her. 

"Good afternoon" he purred "How is my favorite librarian doing?" flirted so he could gain a little confidence. 

"Ah, Co… Roy" except his lips curved into a spontaneous smile when she said his name like that "Is something the matter?"

Yes. Something was the matter. She was far away. Too far away. Out of reach. What if something happened? What if, in the end, she decided not to come here? 

"No" he lied "I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything is going well."

"Careful, Colonel" her voice had become very soft all of a sudden "It almost sounds like you miss me."

Well, he was. Missing her. He didn't like that she wasn't close. That he couldn't see her face. That he couldn't touch her. And he didn't even get to say goodbye properly. When he left on that morning, he just told her to go back to sleep and kissed her lips. He didn't even say goodbye. Really, he was truly pathetic. 

"What if I do?" 

"I…" she was embarrassed, probably blushing and he knew how cute she was when she was blushing "I miss you too" what? "I-I arrive on Wednesday, it's not that far" okay, now he was the one blushing "Maybe we can see each other then, what do you think?"

His heart was beating so fast. With expectation. With fear also. Come on, fear of what? Sure, she was ambiguous, often. She was torn between her strong principles and her feelings for him. Of course, that ambiguity wouldn't disappear after a few kisses. He knew as much. Just like he knew she was making efforts, tremendous efforts to deal with this discrepancy. She wanted to be with him. She was ready to follow him all the way to Central. She wouldn't go. Unlike every other woman he dated. She wanted to stay. So why was it frightening him? 

"Roy?"

"Sorry" he blinked "Sure, we can do that" he glanced at his schedule "If I manage to free myself, I'm awfully busy."

"Right" her joy had died out "You've been promoted. More responsibilities, then."

"Hey" he smirked "As much as I appreciate your eagerness to see me" she called him an idiot, at some point, and he giggled "I'll make room for you" he purred once again "I always find room for pretty ladies."

He should stop making jokes like that. He should stop and be more serious. Because she obviously was. Serious about him. She was following him to Central. Except his hand was still shivering when he squeezed the receiver. 

"Ri-Right" he could hear her ruffle her hair "Are you okay, though?" come on, her too? "How's your sleep? Are you eating correctly?"

Cute. Really really cute. 

"I'm fine" he lied blatantly "A lot to handle but I am fine."

"The serial killer?" her voice quivered on this one. 

"We have a suspect but" he frowned, rubbed his forehead "He's really slippery."

"Be careful, okay?" damn, he really was the worst "I'm worried. I can't, Roy, I…" even on the phone he was making her cry "Sorry. I'm just really scared something might happen while I'm still there" she sniffled, chuckled "I'm stupid, right?"

No, she wasn't. He was worried too. He was worried something might happen to her when she was still in the East. Out of reach. Not immediate danger, no: she was a civilian. But something that'd make her reconsider coming here. Afraid she'd go, afraid she'd stay. What was wrong with him? 

"Maybe you are, a little" ah, cute when she was protesting too "But that means I also am" his lips curved into a smile she couldn't see "Because I'm also…"

Worried, scared, missing you. 

Except he couldn't finish his sentence. Words remained stuck in his throat. 

"You're also what?" 

Ah, come on! Don't answer with such expectation in your voice! 

"Tired" he glanced at Hawkeye, his time was up and she was giving him the deadly sniper glare "I'm sorry but I have to go. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay" she sounded disappointed "You take care, alright?"

For her, always. 

"Don't you worry" except his voice wasn't that stern "You do too, okay?"

Really really pathetic. 

To lose his senses over a civilian woman. 

Him. 

That was so absurd. 


	31. Don't let this feeling fade

“Colonel” you greeted “Please, come in.”

It felt like centuries. It felt like centuries since you hadn't seen his face. His unkempt black hair, his fierce eyes, his lips curving into a slight smile. He was gorgeous. Even if tired. He wasn't getting much sleep still. The nightmares perhaps.

“Roy” he sighed dramatically “And to say I've picked my most off-duty outfit.”

You had to admit you were a little surprised to see him show up dressed like that. No uniform was one thing and you had already seen him in civilian attire. Though today he looked pretty casual. No fancy three-piece suits, no classy shoes or scarf. His pants looked a little worn out, as worn out as his things could get. Honestly, there was something off about him. Something you couldn't put your fingers on. He looked the same. And yet he… didn't?

“I've come to help you unpack” his smile looked the same, that wasn't it “You arrived only a couple of days ago, right? I thought you might need a hand.”

“You really don't have to.”

He took off his coat, looked around for a hanger which wasn't there (yet) and neatly folded the clothing over his arm. What is it, Roy? What is it that makes you look so different? His hands were as careful as ever, that wasn't it either. 

“Ah, come on” his smile widened “As a gentleman, I can't decently let a lady such as yourself unpack on her own.”

His self-confident, flirtatious jokes were still the same, that wasn't it either.

“Sure” you smiled “Do you want coffee? I was about to make some.”

“Please” he ran a hand through his hair “I could definitely use some.”

He surely looked a little sad and a little tired but it wasn't much of a surprise. He was still mourning, not to mention adjusting to his new position. That wasn't it either. You made small talk while preparing coffee and here too, he was his usual self. Sometimes a little off, but nothing to worry about. That wasn't it either. Not his face, not his hair, not his clothes, not his attitude. What is it, Roy? Can’t you just tell me why you feel different? 

“Here, your coffee.”

He extended a hand to grab the cup and his top pulled up a little. Then you noticed. Of course. That was it. Nothing too drastic for you to notice right away. Except now it was clear as day.

“Colonel, did you lose weight?”

“Ah” he rubbed his forehead “I guess I might have. I work like crazy” his eyes “I still have to adapt to Central, the rhythm here is hectic.”

“How's your sleep?”

“Fine” he looked away, sipped on his drink (a lie) “I just barely get enough, don't worry” he sighed “I'll have catched up with the new rhythm in a few days.”

I'm here, now, if you need anything.

Roy.

Except the words never passed your lips. Not when you drank coffee at your small kitchen table. Not when he helped you with your furniture and some of your boxes. You were far from being done, not after just one afternoon.

“Can I have a glass of water?”

“Of course” you ran the water from the sink to make sure it was cool enough “Are you okay? You look pretty pale.”

“Fine” though he clenched his teeth “Just the fatigue.”

“Are you eating correctly?” he didn't answer, took down his glass in one big gulp “Colonel?” no, not that, say it, his name “R…”

“Enough to function” he put down the glass with a little clank “I can handle myself.”

“Sure” you crossed your arms in annoyance “By throwing yourself into work.”

“It's Central, I've been promoted” he put down his hands onto the counter as if to keep his balance in check “This is how it works.”

You didn't like this. How he stared down at his hands, his shoulders that looked so frail, shivering. His voice, out of it. Shit, shit, shit. You threw an unsteady arm around him.

“Sit” your voice quivered with fear “Sit, Colonel” he wasn't moving, of course “Don't be stubborn, you can't pass out on me: you're too big. Sit.”

“I'm not going to do as something as stupid as pass…”

“Sit!” you cut him and this time you were obviously panicked.

“Aye aye” he obliged, squatting down and moving a bit to rest his back against the wall, while you accompanied his every gesture “You're cute when you worry about me, though.”

He chuckled and he looked so pretty and sad your hands suddenly put themselves on the wall behind him and you leaned in to kiss him. That wasn't exactly planned. Actually that wasn't really a smart thing to do if he was about to pass out. Which he wasn't. Definitely. You initiated the kiss but it was his tongue which went straight for yours. He was a little eager and his hands, when he held you, a little too possessive. He had been needing that. Warmth. Care. (Love) He had been needing you. More than he would ever admit.

“You're really cute” he repeated, running a hand through your hair “When you worry about me.”

“I know you're in civilian clothes and I don't know how far your place is from here but…” you ignored his teasing “Do you want to spend the night? Though we didn't… fix the couch either and…”

“I live far and that’s a shame” he tapped your nose “But I always keep a clean uniform in my trunk because I'm smart like that” his lips curved softly “And what would I need a couch for when I can sleep on the ground?”

“Idiot!” 

Your hands were still on the wall, his still keeping you close to him. Your eyes lingered on his face, his lips a little. He was really really beautiful. Even when this tired. That wasn't fair. Your head moved to and fro but he was the one to close the distance between the two of you this time. He was slower on that one. Softer. Not giving you much opportunity to take the lead at any time but that was a commanding officer for you. He was gentle. Really gentle. You moaned and your hands curled into fists. He was good. And that was unfair. Too unfair. So unfair you started to cry.

“Wait” he frowned “Why are you…?”

“Idiot” you threw your arms around him, brought his face close to your chest “Why haven't you taken better care of yourself?” you played tenderly with his hair “Why, stupid Colonel?”

“I'll definitely” he chuckled again “Court-martial you.”

He relaxed all of a sudden. The grip of his hands loosened, he almost let go of you. His body became heavy also, really heavy. Wait, no, no, no! Don't pass out  _ now _ !

“Roy, hey Roy!” you carefully pulled back “Roy!”

“You're really cute” damn, he looked so exhausted “When you say my name.”


	32. By the touch of your hand

“Roy” you shook his shoulder frantically “Roy, wake up” more than frantically “Roy!”

He jolted, moved back and let out a gasp of surprise. His gestures were so swift and violent you had to be careful not to get randomly hit. 

“Roy, you're here with me” you switched on the bed lamp so he could see “With me. Safe.”

His eyes widened as he fully woke up and realized where he was lying. And with whom. 

"It's okay" you glanced in his direction "It's me" held a shy hand to run your fingers in his hair "You're with me."

He groaned, quickly grabbed you by the arm to bring you close to him and buried his face against your chest. He sighed deeply, his whole body trembling, his hands erratically squeezing you as if to hold you even closer. He was shivering, the cold sweat making the little hair stick to his temples. A nightmare. Another one. And all those nights he spent alone in his empty house… Your heart sank in your chest. No wonder he had lost weight. 

"Colonel" you kissed the top of his head tenderly "What was your dream about?"

He tensed at your question, wrung the fabric of your top between his clenched fists. He greeted his teeth, pressing his face harder against your chest. You said nothing, just massaged his back gently, as if to encourage him. He wasn't the type of man to talk but if he could just unburden himself a little… 

"Tell me" you whispered. 

"No" he violently pushed you away from him and you didn't like the look in his eyes "You don't need to know."

What was he dreaming about, for him to look at you with such distress and panic? His gaze lingered on your face a bit, travelled down your body, darting on every part that wasn't covered by the sheets. Scanning your every part as his brows frowned. What was he dreaming about, for him to check if you were safe and sound in your own bed? 

"Colonel?"

"Sorry” he sighed as he dropped himself next to you “The nightmares” he pinched the bridge of his nose “I lied, they never stopped” he clicked his tongue angrily “I still can’t sleep. I still can't eat. I still don't know who murdered Hughes” he took a fistful of the sheets “I can’t afford to be such a pathetic wreck!”

“You are not pathetic" you rolled on your side to face him "Let alone a wreck."

He could be sad and vulnerable. Here, with you, where it was safe. He had every right. 

"You're cute" he smiled, flicked your nose playfully "But not very convincing."

He still kissed you on the cheek. He wasn't sure he could. His lips were trembling, shivering when they travelled from your skin to your own mouth. And so was his hand when he cupped your face. A hand so careful. Full of guilt. He was shy, his lips just brushing alongside yours softly. Carefully. As if he was testing (tasting) if your words were true. He was shy. He was soft, gentle. He carefully nibbled on your mouth, asking for a permission he wasn't sure you'd grant him. Though you tilted your head, opened your mouth, tensed when his tongue slid between your lips, shivered when it rubbed slowly against yours. 

It tasted bitter, somehow, like his anxiety. 

Roy. 

You had sensed it coming. You had sensed it on the very seconds of that kiss. At first, it lacked intimacy, no matter how paradoxical it could sound in a moment like that. He was kissing you with the solemnity of a stern and strong officer in charge. Only his hands, the way he was holding you were betraying his insecurity. You let out a little moan, as you kissed back, as your tongue moved alongside his. He was less solemn after that. He grabbed you firmly, as he came slowly on top of you, towering you with his whole body, as if to shelter you. Never breaking the kiss. He just wanted to be in control of things. Or at least to have the illusion of control. What was he dreaming about, for him to be this desperate? 

His kiss was bitter and sweet. 

He cupped your face with both his hands, deepening the kiss then breaking it, giving your still opened lips a few light pecks. Before going for another one, tongue and all. Less shy. By far. He was holding you tighter, bringing you closer though you noticed he was still careful, making sure the lower parts of your bodies never touched. You wouldn’t really mind, though. You had sensed it coming. You were getting heated, passionate, your hands wandering aimlessly on his back and shoulders, his shamelessly drawing the shape of your hips, waist, breasts through the clothing. 

Sweet.

So sweet.

He gasped when your fingers slowly slid under the fabric of his top, gauging if you could actually go further. He shivered, a thrill went down his spine and he briskly stopped moving but did nothing to stop you. Okay. Okay, Roy, I understand. I'll go slow. You ran both your hands on his naked back, chest, struggled to get him rid of his top so you could touch better. Feel his every muscle. Damn. He was still so ripped, for someone that couldn't eat or sleep. A soldier’s body shouldn’t feel this great. It wasn’t fair. Your breathing was getting labored. 

Roy.

Roy, you are… 

Your own top went off as well. You wriggled when his callous fingers made contact with your bare skin, travelling up and down your hips, waist, breasts. His fingers were twitching, often. He was more hesitant than you would have thought he'd be. He wanted to do good. He wanted to be sure you wanted him too. To be sure you weren't afraid of him touching you like that. To be sure you weren't afraid of this was going. For there was no going back. 

Roy.

Touch me. Please. 

I love you. 

Your hands were the first to go lower, cupping his firm butt cheeks, a lot less shy than his could be. Damn, he was so… good. Your body went rigid and you would have bitten on your lower lip if your mouth wasn't so busy. His body was amazing. He was amazing. Your back arched and you moaned deep in your throat when he (finally) dared to press himself, all off himself, against you. He was so hard you spread your legs and gently bucked your hips to feel more of him.

But something was off.

He broke the kiss, rested his face in the crook of your neck and was no longer moving. Ah, shit. Too soon maybe. Too bad, it was going so well. But, right now, his body wasn't trembling with desire. Or, at least, not with desire only. You moved your hands up, back on his shoulders, running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

Slowly. Tenderly.

Because, in the end, he was the one afraid.


End file.
